There's Another River on the Other Side
by Star-Crossed Rose
Summary: The war has left the world with the impression that all Slytherins are evil. Alliances are made as they fight to overturn this stereotype, and a curse on the Sorting Hat brings together the people it had separated. No pairings (except mention of canon).
1. Tonight I'm Feeling Like an Astronaut

**Hello everyone! This month, I am participating in NaNoWriMo for the first time (in the Young Writer's Program). My goal is set at 30,000 words, but I'm aiming for 50,000 anyway. At the end of each chapter I will state my current word count, without the author's notes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!**

Dusty morning light filtered through unwashed windows, illuminating a grungy carpet and an even grungier teen. One arm was flung out listlessly, the other draped across his eyes. His open mouth indicated that he had fallen asleep.

His face twitched as the window opened, but he woke up when a newspaper was dropped on his face. The boy grabbed it and sat up, disoriented, one hand scrabbling until it found a wand. Seeing the owl perched on the couch he had meant to sleep on did not lessen his confusion.

The owl hopped toward him and let out a soft hoot, startling him. When the owl patiently held out its leg, he finally showed signs of recognition and got up, muttering.

Harry Potter had been living at Number 12 Grimmauld Place for six days. During that time he had walked upstairs to where he had stayed when Sirius was alive, walked back downstairs, nibbled on what the Hogwarts house elves brought him, and slept on all the living room couches in an attempt to find the most comfortable one. He refused to leave the living room. In any given room, he might see the dust and remember a time Mrs. Weasley had forced him and Ron and Hermione and all the Weasleys and _Sirius_ to attempt to clean. He would see cupboards formerly full of strange treasures Fred and George had tried to nick. He could barely breathe in this house of ghosts.

He was glad that the Dumbledore dust-ghost, and the other hexes in the entryway, were gone. Harry had enough ghosts in his head as it were.

Harry found his tattered bag by the door and shuffled back to the living room with it where the owl was waiting. It was a barn owl, he noted absently as he searched for Knuts to pay the owl. He hadn't seen a snowy owl since-

No. He couldn't think about Hedwig. In an effort to distract himself, he looked back at the owl. Perhaps that wasn't the best way to not think about owls, but Harry chose to reflect on its presence rather than its similarities.

"You're the first visitor I've had since the Aurors put me here," Harry told it. "I wondered if any news would show up- I never cancelled my subscription. But I suppose it's been hard to find me, this last year." He frowned. "Hang on- how did you find me? I thought this place had wards!"

Harry abruptly stood up and started pacing, ignoring the reproachful hoot at the unnecessary delay in payment. "They thought I would be safe here. _I_ thought I would be safe here. Why are the wards down?" He froze. "Are there _any_ wards left?"

With a nasty taste in his mouth, Harry recalled how he had been able to move as soon as he fell off the tower. Moody's work- the traps in the hallway- had disappeared. Who had cast the other wards?

Harry paid the owl and watched it fly off, alone again with even more ghosts.

* * *

Hermione ignored the "For Sale" sign in her yard and marched to the door. She raised her hand to knock, hesitated, and lowered it to the doorknob instead. Walking in, her first impression was that nothing had changed. The furniture sat untouched, and family pictures smiled at her from every direction. She almost managed to smile back, until she noticed it.

She wasn't in them.

Of course. She had Obliviated her parents and removed every reminder that they had a daughter. This was no longer her house- she was the ghost here.

Her musings were cut short when voices floated down from upstairs. Her heart soared even as her mind spat that it was only some family touring the house in hopes of making it their own. Her parents were in Australia, where she'd sent them.

Hermione wanted to scream, but her mind coldly put her heart back in its place and announced that they were leaving.

And so she left.

* * *

Ron sat in his room, alone. His Chudley Cannons posters seemed too bright, and he thought about redecorating. He quickly dismissed the idea. No one needed _more_ change right now. He thought about going outside. He dismissed that idea too. Outside he would have to notice that no one else was outside. Everyone in the house was in their own room, trying to sort out their messy world by sorting themselves into separate rooms. It wasn't working. Whatever they needed, it wasn't in their rooms.

Ron made himself stand up. His creaking bedsprings were the only noise he had heard for hours. The noise, any noise, made him think of the way the house used to be, bustling with activity at every level, every family member vying to make the most noise, explosions from the twins' room…

He had to stop remembering how things used to be. He had to stop trying to stop remembering. He knew he had to face the way things were, but that didn't mean he had to do it alone.

Ron grabbed a quill, an inkpot, and two pieces of parchment. With them on his desk he paused indecisively, then tentatively started his letters.

* * *

Day Eight of Harry's stay at Grimmauld House was hardly different than the previous seven, except he had changed his routine for the owl. He woke up just before it came and made sure to give it a bit of his breakfast. After this brief bout of activity, his day would cease to be interesting and he would sit on the floor and avoid thinking.

This day started no different. The owl came and left, and Harry mentally prepared himself for another day of doing nothing. He tried to convince himself that he liked his routine the way it was- uneventful.

His routine and excuse that he liked it were shattered when a Great Grey Owl fluttered through the window and collapsed. He jumped up, running to it. "Errol!" he exclaimed, then coughed. He hadn't spoken that loudly all week.

The feeble owl managed to stretch out a talon, offering him a letter. Harry's heart twisted. It had to be from Ron. Why hadn't he written sooner? He was probably perfectly happy with his family. Well, that was fine. Harry didn't need him to pretend to be concerned. He wouldn't even read the letter.

But as he looked at Errol gasping, yet still trying to offer him the letter, he knew he was being unfair. Harry couldn't just brush off Errol's effort like that. The valiant owl had done his best, and Harry couldn't bring himself to be callous enough to make him fail now. But before he took the letter, he brought over his barely-touched breakfast. Errol was the one who had worked, not him.

Finally, Harry couldn't put off taking the letter. He slit it carefully and fixed an unimpressed look on his face. But as he started reading, his hungry eyes made his face more hopeful than disdainful.

* * *

At the Burrow, Harry couldn't believe he'd almost refused to read Ron's letter. Mrs. Weasley's hug was familiar, and she didn't ask how he was or what he'd been doing with himself. She just sat him down for a late lunch. Harry didn't dare question how quiet the house was but the silent atmosphere was pressing down on him. Luckily for him, Ron's long nose poked around the corner of the stairs, and upon seeing him, Ron whooped and jumped down the last flight of stairs, barreling into Harry.

They couldn't help but laugh. It seemed jarring in the quiet house but Harry wouldn't let himself be ruled by the oppressive stillness. He was at the Burrow with Ron and he would be loud if he wanted to!

A knock sounded at the door and Harry and Ron both ran to it. Ron flung it open to reveal Hermione. Stress pulled at the corners of her eyes, but melted at the sight of them. Ron and Harry grabbed her in a bear hug, and she shrieked playfully. The silence didn't stand a chance.

After that, they couldn't stop talking. Not that they were talking about anything important. Ginny joined them, and eventually Harry asked her if she would be repeating sixth year or moving on to seventh when she returned to Hogwarts.

"Well, both," Ginny said.

"How would that even work?" Hermione asked. "There's simply no way to fit two years of curriculum into one."

Ginny shrugged. "The professors promised us that we'd have hardly any homework but longer classes. That way, the entering first-years won't be held back by everyone else."

"It should work," Ron added. "If the professors teach the essentials well enough, they can definitely fit two years in one. Besides, since there'll be less students they'll be able to work with specific people more."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, glancing at Harry.

"What? OH! No. I don't mean the people who _died_ ," Ron awkwardly attempted to explain. "I just mean, well, the Death Eaters are in Azkaban, right?"

"So?"

"Well, with the Slytherins gone, there'll be more time for everyone else."

"Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters," Harry said.

Ron waved a hand. "Enough of them have Death Eater families."

"That's not their fault." Harry didn't know why he was arguing this. And he didn't know if "he" was himself or Ron.

"Nobody's going to want them," Ron warned.

"No," Hermione said quietly, "but they'll be there anyway. They deserve an education too."

Ron scoffed and fell silent moodily. Harry was quiet too. He knew plenty of the Slytherins were innocent, but what about Draco Malfoy? He had literally led the Death Eaters into the school. Would he be back? Did he deserve another chance?

"Dinner!" Mrs. Weasley called from downstairs, making the four of them jump. They hadn't realized that they'd allowed themselves to become quiet. They all stood and made their way downstairs, making the necessary comments to break the silence without mentioning their disagreement.

 **Word count: 1668**

 **Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	2. My Age Has Never Made Me Wise

**Hey guys. I think I finally fixed the linebreaks in the previous chapter. Also, I forgot my disclaimer. I do not own Harry Potter, or the lyrics I use in my titles.**

After refusing fourth helpings for the third time, Harry also had to convince Mrs. Weasley that he was perfectly capable of carrying his own plate to the sink. He hid a smile- at least _she_ hadn't changed. As she bustled around the kitchen, directing Ginny and George to help with the dishes and absentmindedly flicking her wand at the sink, causing it to fill with hot, soapy water, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way back upstairs.

Completely stuffed and hopeful that Ron would be more reasonable after he'd eaten, Harry almost asked if he really thought all Slytherins were evil, then thought better of it. He wanted to have a discussion, not an argument.

"Is it just me or was dinner really quiet?" he asked, hoping this was a safe subject.

Hermione nodded, eyes wide. "Ron, is everything okay?"

"Not really," he said. Harry sat up. "That was actually the loudest dinner we've had all summer."

Harry and Hermione stared at him. He shrugged. "Everything's been quiet around here lately. Everyone just stays in their rooms. No one wants to go play Quidditch when there's an extra broom left in the shed."

"But- hasn't your family talked at all?"

Ron shrugged again. That seemed to be all he knew how to do. "What is there to say? Nothing will change what happened. We just have to get on with our lives." He sounded bitter, and though Harry knew it wasn't directed at him, he felt the guilt twisting around his ribs. If only he had defeated Voldemort sooner, if only he'd never gotten the Weasleys involved…

Ron had slouched against the bed from his position on the floor, but he shook himself and sat up. "What about you guys? I haven't seen either of you since the stupid interviews."

Harry snorted. This, at least, was something they could agree on. "The Aurors dropped me off with them like they were my babysitters while they figured out what to do with me. I had to spend another week with them after you guys got to go home."

"That's terrible!" Ron said, scandalized. "The first week was bad enough. Seriously, what was their problem? I mean, I understand the importance of giving the facts and talking about horcruxes and all, but why did they need to know every place we stayed? I didn't even know where we were half the time! And then they tried to figure out this whole 'survival cooking' thing based off what we managed to scavenge, like we were just some… what did they call it? Reality show? I think it's a Muggle thing. But come on, after all the details they made us give I felt like we'd gone through five years, not just one! And then they…"

Harry relaxed. He didn't want to talk about his time at Grimmauld Place and how he'd done nothing but mope around in the dust. With Ron ranting about the stupid reporters, he only had to nod along, just like old times.

"…they even ask you?" Ron was saying, staring at him expectantly.

Assuming it was something about what he'd been asked his second week with the reporters, Harry said, "Exactly what they asked the first week. I think they might have been checking that we weren't lying. I don't get that, but they seemed way too excited about the war- and I don't mean the end of it- to be sane."

He hoped that was enough to satisfy them, but Hermione quietly asked, "So where did you go after that?"

Harry swallowed. It was probably for the best that he told them, anyway. "Grimmauld Place."

"But… there's no one there. And there's those traps in the entrance… how did you survive?"

"The traps were gone," Harry said dully. He didn't really want to talk about why they were gone.

At Ron's confused look, Hermione whispered, "They were Moody's."

"Yeah, I know," Ron said, "But they were still there after he died, right? Why were they gone now?"

Hermione gasped. "I didn't think of that! Well, magic like that is supposed to last longer than life anyway. Maybe it was tied into the wards? That would make sense, since they wouldn't let new spells be added without…" All of this she said very fast, and Harry and Ron couldn't help but grin. Continuity was rare and they cherished each tiny bit they could find.

"But why would the spells fail now?" Harry asked, cutting off her theoretical musing.

"I was just getting to that," Hermione said with great dignity. "The wards would have been using extra power to fuel the extra spells, and after such a long period of the spells being unnecessary, since no one was tripping them, the wards decided to cut them and focus on the more effective protective spells."

"The wards _decided_?"

She shrugged. "It's old magic, Harry. I have no idea how it works, I only know that it does."

"There's something you don't know?"

Ron half-smiled. "She's right, mate. This sort of stuff isn't in public libraries. The purebloods kept all their secrets in their own little private libraries."

Harry still didn't get it, but he nodded and moved on. "Anyway. I guess the Aurors thought it was best. It's not like I could go back to the Dursleys."

"What happened to them?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Harry confessed. "I know they were taken into protection last year, but I haven't heard of them since. I don't think I even cared." He didn't know why he was sharing this. He had planned on skipping over his summer.

"They may be your blood, Harry, but that doesn't make them your family," Hermione said.

Harry thought about this. It was true that he had never really thought about them as family, except when Dumbledore talked about how Lily's blood lived on through Petunia… no, he couldn't think about Dumbledore. So they weren't his family. This wasn't anything Harry hadn't already felt, but it somehow seemed earthshattering to him. He had a family- the one he had chosen.

Harry was feeling pretty cheerful and ready to forget everything Ron had said about Slytherins when Hermione said, "Of course, that doesn't help the families that are being torn up now."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, alarmed. He thought the war was over. Everyone was struggling to adjust, but it was bringing people together, right? Nobody would deliberately break apart a family at a time like this. Hadn't they had enough destruction?

"Everyone who had a Death Eater in their family," Hermione said quietly. "Not everybody knew about them, or they didn't see it as important, or they felt better pretending they weren't. But now their families are being put on trial if just one person was suspected of vaguely approving of Voldemort."

"Hermione," Ron exhaled. "The Death Eaters _deserve_ to go to Azkaban!"

"All of them?" she said.

"Hermione, what are you getting at?" Harry asked. Of course Death Eaters should go to Azkaban. Of course the innocent should be spared. How was there any gray area on this?

"They're putting every pureblood with wealth and power on trial. It's not about whether they were a Death Eater, or if they wanted to be, or even if they hate Muggleborns. The media just wants a new group to unite against."

"Are you saying there are innocent Death Eaters? Hermione-"

"Severus Snape."

Harry flinched.

"Regulus Arcturus Black."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"And Draco Malfoy."

Harry frowned, and judging by Ron's lack of immediate rebuttal, he too was contemplating what the blond Slytherin deserved.

"He didn't kill Dumbledore," was all Harry could think to say.

"But he led the Death Eaters into the school."

"He was scared!"

"Does that change what happened?"

"Yes," Harry said. "It did."

Hermione looked him in the eye. "Do you think the Ministry will care?"

Harry looked away. "Kingsley-"

"-Is busy with dozens of court cases. He can't afford to show favoritism, and even with his best efforts, how much of a trial do you think he's going to get?"

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said uneasily. "He's a Malfoy, he'll probably just pay the court to let him go and ferret his way out like he always does."

"And Sirius was a Black."

Harry had gone pale. Dumbledore, Snape, Sirius- would Malfoy be one more soulless ghost to join in haunting him?

"Can they really just throw him in Azkaban? Wait, what happened with the dementors anyway?"

"They locked the dementors inside Azkaban, I guess they had to keep the place terrifying and the dementors under control and that seemed the best way to do it," Ron said. "And I guess they actually wouldn't have much of a problem sending him straight there."

"We have to stop them," Harry said. He noticed Hermione smiling behind her hand. Wait, since when had he been arguing on Malfoy's behalf. Ugh. She'd totally tricked him… but she was right.

"Have you been checking your mail, Harry?" she said, her tone implying she knew the answer. She didn't wait for a reply. "I thought not. Kingsley's been writing you to see if you'll testify at his trial." She looked at him expectantly.

"Of course I'll testify," he answered immediately.

Ron scoffed. "Do you really think that'll change anything?"

"Why wouldn't it? If I tell them what really happen, they'll have to let him go, right?"

"Harry… the Ministry always gets what it wants. I know Kingsley is trying to change things, but he's just one guy, and everyone else is used to getting their way. Remember your trial? They wouldn't believe you until Dumbledore spelled things out for them and practically threatened them. Them letting you go… nothing like that has happened for centuries. If they want all the Death Eater families in Azkaban, that's where they'll go." Ron's face hardened. "Right where they belong."

Harry gulped. He didn't want to do with a bunch of politicians stuck in their ways. He didn't want to deal with Ron, who was apparently also stuck in his ways.

"Umm… when's the trial?"

Hermione smiled serenely. "Tomorrow."

 **Chapter word count: 1687**

 **Total word count: 3355**

 **Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome!**


	3. Just another Family Torn

**Yo. My disclaimer still applies. Can I just say that now and never again?**

Harry had been afraid that Ron's attitude toward the trials would be shared with his family, but Mrs. Weasley was perfectly agreeable when he approached her asking for a way to the Ministry. "Oh, that's no trouble at all, dear, we were planning on going anyway to meet up with Bill and Fleur, and I'll just write them to let them know to meet us at the trial." She absentmindedly patted his hand and whisked away.

Harry supposed he should prepare a statement, or at least plan what he was going to say. Should he mention how Draco was trying to convince Death Eaters he was on their side during the battle, or should he leave that out and only say that they had saved him and he hadn't killed them? That didn't sound too impressive. His only defense was a list of things Malfoy didn't _do_. Maybe he should talk about how his life was what saved Harry's…

Well, in that case he should really be testifying for Narcissa Malfoy. If she hadn't lied to Voldemort's face the war would have ended quite differently. But again, that had very little to do with convincing the Wizengamot that Malfoy deserved freedom.

Ugh. There were far too many Malfoys. But now he was thinking of how much Narcissa Malfoy must have cared about her son. He had never thought of Malfoy- _Draco_ Malfoy- of having a family. Sure, he was always talking about his father, but Harry never thought of the lot of them as a _family_. He had agreed with Hermione before, but suddenly everything made sense. He couldn't let families get ripped apart. It was because Sirius hadn't had a trial that Harry had had to grow up with the Dursleys! Well, to be fair, he might have ended up with them anyway, since Dumbledore had insisted that the blood magic was the best protection possible. How could Ron possibly justify this?

Sincerely trying to understand, Harry thought about it. It was true that Malfoy had bullied them for years. He had broken Harry's nose on the train sixth year. He called Hermione a Mudblood and judged people based off how much money they had. And of course, he _had_ let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He wasn't exactly someone Harry enjoyed going to school with.

But what did that matter? Could he really throw Malfoy- or anyone- to the dementors just because they didn't get along? The war had changed everyone. Maybe it had changed him too.

Harry sighed. He would have to talk to Ron. Well, that was sort of inevitable, since they were sharing a room. Ron was in the room. Harry was outside. Sooner or later, they would be in the same room, and this was a conversation that needed to happen, so it might as well be sooner.

Harry trudged upstairs and paused at Ron's door. Should he knock? It was his room too. But not really, he was just a guest, it was still Ron's room. He should probably knock. He didn't need to give Ron a reason to go off on him. His hand was half-raised in indecisiveness when the door opened.

Ron was looking down as he prepared to exit his room and was obviously surprised to see Harry there. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Um. Come in?"

Harry did, with some trepidation, but no small measure of relief. Maybe he was overthinking things and Ron hadn't been coming to find him, but at the very least, he wasn't happy that they'd argued. He could work with that.

"Listen, Ron, about-"

"No." Ron held up a hand. "I may not like Malfoy, but I suppose that he might not completely deserve Azkaban. I mean- it's _Azkaban_." He scratched the back of his neck. "I don't want to see him pay his way out and walk around smugly like he owns the school and tell us that it's only a matter of time before someone becomes the new Dark Lord. But I've been thinking about it and there's no way he's going to be able to act like that. So I don't like him, but if you keep him out of Azkaban, I'll support you."

Harry gaped. He had expected to have to justify himself to Ron, not be unconditionally supported. Well. That was okay.

He cleared his throat. "Right. Thanks, mate."

Ron nodded at him, and opened his mouth but from downstairs Ginny yelled, "Oi! It's the middle of the night and some of us are trying to sleep! Can you save your conversation for morning?"

Grinning sheepishly, they did.

* * *

The morning went quickly. Breakfast was hurried, and before Harry knew it he was standing in front of the Floo with the necessary powder in his hand. "They're letting people Floo into the Ministry?" he managed to ask.

"No, no," Mr. Weasley said absentmindedly. "I have a friend who lives within walking distance of the visitor entrance, and he was kind enough to allow us to go through his house."

Harry stumbled out of the Floo, too relieved that he had ended up at the right place to be cross about the rough journey and his inability to step out gracefully. He saw nothing of the house's owner, only the elegant black and white walls, before they spilled out of the house onto the street.

Mr. Weasley led the way with Mrs. Weasley shepherding them from behind. As they piled into the telephone booth, Harry swallowed his memories and attempted to focus on the upcoming trial.

The Ministry had definitely updated their security. It was a shame they hadn't done so years before, really. It would have been nice if they'd gotten around to that before Voldemort had broken in.

That was exactly what Harry was trying to avoid thinking about, so he just stopped thinking and let himself be caught up in the tide of security guards and paperwork.

Eventually they determined that Harry Potter was not, in fact, seeking to raze the Ministry and free the Death Eaters, and allowed them to descend into the courtrooms.

Just as it had been for Harry's trial, the room the Death Eaters were being tried in had a chair with manacles, and too many looming tiers too count. Harry supposed that this time the manacles were more likely to be necessary.

They were allowed entrance to the very top row so they would not disturb the ongoing trial. Harry peered down curiously, hoping to see whose trial it was. Sitting in the chair was Narcissa Malfoy.

"I believe we have all the evidence necessary to make our decision," some elderly wizard was saying. "Mrs. Malfoy, is there anything else you would like to say?"

Narcissa was not bound, Harry noted, but there were two wizards with wands out on either side of her, waiting for any sudden movements. She didn't make any. Instead, she looked the wizard who had spoken in the eye and asked, "What did you decide for my husband?"

He scoffed at her. "You know perfectly well that we can't release that information before the last trial today. Lucky for you, that's the very next one." An ugly grin grew on his face. "I wonder how your son will feel, not knowing if his parents are going to Azkaban or not?"

Narcissa stared at him, her eyes giving nothing away. Eventually the man coughed. "Yes. Well. You're free to go."

With great dignity, Narcissa Malfoy rose and left the room. The two armed wizards walked over to a side door. One opened it while the other pointed his wand through it and barked unintelligible instructions. Slowly and carefully, Draco Malfoy walked out at wandpoint.

He was paler than usual, perhaps, but his hair was immaculately combed. Besides the absence of his smirk, he looked as though he were just going through another day at Hogwarts, not a trial to determine whether or not he deserved to have his soul sucked out.

"Sit down already," the old wizard snapped. "It's been a long day, and we're ready for our lunch break." He received a smattering of applause and a few laughs from the rest of the Wizengamot. "Let's see. We're supposed to ask questions. Do you have the Dark Mark? Yes. Well, there you have it. Shall we make our decision?"

Again, the Wizengamot cheered. Harry stood up, aghast. Kingsley was massaging his temples but managed to sound calm as he said, "Actually, the boy is entitled to a defense. Mr. Potter?"

All eyes turned to Harry. He had a moment of satisfaction as he noticed the Wizengamot's displeasure at having to turn around. Malfoy appeared shocked. Had no one even told him he would have a defense? Of course, Harry realized guiltily, he had never responded to Kingsley's letters. Maybe they just didn't want to give him false hope.

Of course, they were also withholding the fates of his parents from him. Harry didn't think that had anything to do with mercy.

Oh. Everyone was still looking at him. Some were beginning to cough. What was he supposed to say again?

"He didn't kill Dumbledore," Harry offered. "He refused to become a killer."

"Yes…" the old wizard drawled. "He didn't prevent it from happening, however, which was a direct result of him letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. I'm sure you remember that?"

Harry knew there was no way to excuse this, but he would try. "His family was being threatened. He had to do something!"

This managed to stir a small mutter, but Harry knew it wasn't enough. He knew he'd had a reason that made him believe Draco didn't deserve to go to Azkaban. What was it again?

"You asked if he had the Dark Mark. I'm pretty sure he had no choice in getting it." Pretty sure, no, he shouldn't have said that. Too late now. "He was forced into this war as much as I was. He can't be punished for being forced onto the wrong side."

That was all he had. What else was there to say? He felt that he had already repeated all his arguments. He couldn't afford to bore them.

"With all due respect, _Mr. Potter_ , we can't let Death Eaters walk free. He participated in a war to kill anyone who would not fall into line. We must work together to promote peace in these troubled times."

Harry had heard those words before, and lost all reservations about repeating himself. "He never had any way out. He might have the Dark Mark but he's not a Death Eater. What more do you need to hear? I could go on all day," Harry added. He had a feeling they would make the quickest decision, not necessarily the right one.

Draco was staring at him. Harry couldn't help but look away.

"Fine. He can go."

A great cheering rose up from the tiers, and Harry had a feeling it wasn't a cry of support for Malfoy's freedom. He swallowed his disgust as the Wizengamot cheerfully left the courtroom, chatting casually as though they hadn't been doing anything important.

 **Chapter word count: 1861**

 **Total word count: 5216**

 **It would be cool if someone who's not a real-life friend reviewed this. Not to discourage my real-life friends from reviewing.**


	4. The Sound of One who makes a Choice

**Guys, I can't respond to your zero reviews :(**

Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys got swept up in the flood exiting the courtroom. Outside, cameras flashed, and Harry instinctively ducked, disoriented. When he looked up Hermione and the Weasleys were nowhere in sight. Instead, he was surrounded by reporters.

"Harry, why were you at the trial?"

"Harry, did you say anything?"

"Harry, what's your opinion on the Death Eaters that are being pardoned?"

"Harry, Harry, over here, Harry!"

He looked up at Mrs. Weasley's voice, but the cameras snapped again, and he was once more blinded. The reporters pressed in tighter.

"Will you continue to wipe out the Death Eaters?"

"Do you prefer the Weird Sisters or Taylor Swift?"

All questions stopped as every reporter stared at the one who'd made the Muggle reference. She blushed, and was swallowed up by the ring of reporters squeezing tighter together and forcing her out.

"Harry, are you single?"

Was he? He hadn't talked to Ginny at all since the war. The reporters were still firing off questions, but he ignored them. He would have to talk to her.

"He's blushing!"

"Quick, write this down: Boy-Who-Lived Currently Dating… wait, who is he dating?"

"Wasn't it that Weasley girl?"

"I'm more of a Harmione fan myself…"

"Love triangle! Ha, they'll love it."

"Harry, what do you-"

Just then the reporters were interrupted by Ministry security. Finally, Harry thought. Somehow, despite hearing about all the improvements the Ministry had made, he didn't really expect a difference. That was true enough in the courtroom, but at least he didn't have to be harassed.

Wait. Those priorities sounded wrong. Corrupt court proceedings allowing potential innocents to get their soul sucked out was worse than Harry getting asked a few questions. Okay. Priorities sorted.

Harry cast his eyes about the crowd, searching for the brilliant Weasley hair. Before he could find them, however, an old man was beaming at him and grabbing his hand.

He introduced himself, but Harry wasn't listening. He had identified the wizard as the leader of the Wizengamot who'd joked about people's souls. He wrenched his hand back and walked away. He had no idea where the Weasleys were, but he had to move or he would drown in the crowd. He made it about two steps when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

He spun around, hoping for a familiar face, but he didn't recognize the sharp-jawed woman. "Harry, have you heard of the controversy surrounding puffskein products? I can assure you, they are morally unsound! If you would just give me your endorsement, I-"

Harry surged forward through a gap in the crowd, effectively cutting her off. He finally caught sight of a red-haired man and managed to make it to his side, but it turned out he was just some Ministry worker. Frustrated, Harry turned around and immediately spotted the Weasleys near the opposite wall. They appeared to be making their way toward someone else, but he couldn't see who it was. Sighing, Harry dove into the crowd once more.

This time, he refused to stop for anyone. He ignored the multiple times he heard his name, and every hand that clutched at him, seeking to grab a bit of his fame for their own. He forged ahead, not even looking up until he realized that was probably not the best way to move in a straight line. Harry looked up. Sure enough, he had gotten off track- not too badly, but he knew it would have gotten worse. Looking up, he accidentally made eye contact, but gritted his teeth and moved on before he could be asked to sign an autograph that was actually a legal document.

It was slower going, and he had to actually see people, but at least he knew he was going in the right direction. He could occasionally catch glimpses of red hair, just often enough to assure him that he was still on the right track. On his way, he spotted Narcissa Malfoy chatting with a rather fat old Wizengamot official. She appeared relaxed and invested in her conversation, but every time the man blinked or coughed, her wide eyes would dart around anxiously. Draco was conspicuously missing from her side. Had anyone even told her his fate yet? What about that of her husband? Harry shivered. He didn't know what had happened to Lucius Malfoy, but he found that despite his revelations about keeping families together, the senior Malfoy was one true Death Eater that could not be allowed to walk free.

He moved on, expecting that that was the last he would see of her, but he found that she was always in his vision, talking to some other no-doubt wealthy and influential member of the Ministry. She must have been moving in the same direction Harry was. As she laughed with a woman wearing an ostentatiously plumed hat, her eyes burned over the woman's shoulder. It appeared she, too, had a target.

Harry spotted a Weasley again- Percy, he thought- and noted that they had made more progress than he'd accounted for. He adjusted his path accordingly, and realized he was close enough to distinguish every single Weasley, as well as Hermione. Usually her hair would have been an excellent beacon, but in this crowd, there were so many outrageous hats that he was going off color, not volume.

Harry finally saw who the Weasleys had been trying to reach- Bill and Fleur. Harry vaguely remembered some mention of planning to meet them here. It occurred to him that the Ministry was not the best place to meet up, unless you were hoping for a chance encounter. It appeared Bill and Fleur had found one, although probably not one they were hoping for. They were talking to Draco Malfoy.

Harry stopped in his tracks, but was jolted into motion when a man twirled around to illustrate some point, his arm flung out dramatically. His friends laughed uproariously, but Harry had to dodge it quickly and move lest he become accosted once again.

He really didn't want to talk to Malfoy. Sure, he'd spoken at his trial, but that was just him being a decent human being. He still didn't even _like_ him! But it seemed that was where everyone was heading. Narcissa Malfoy was probably going to him as well. At least she'd found him.

Harry managed to make it to the Weasleys and Hermione before they made it to Bill, Fleur, and Malfoy. "Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "Are you all right, dear, I should have known we'd all get swept away, it took me twenty minutes just to find Ron…"

He smiled and nodded, but was still thinking about the possible encroaching encounter with Malfoy. "Mrs. Weasley…" he started. She nodded encouragingly. "I know I just spoke at Malfoy's trial, but-"

"Oh, I know, and I don't want to see him either. We don't have to talk to him, just get Bill and Fleur and go, all right?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said gratefully. As they got closer they noticed that Bill had a rather reluctant look on her face. Mrs. Weasley strode forward determinedly. As soon as Bill saw her, he broke off whatever he was saying to Malfoy to hug her. As soon as he stepped back, Fleur swooped in and kissed Mrs. Weasley on the cheeks, as if as long as someone was moving they wouldn't have to speak. Bill turned back to Malfoy, hopefully to excuse himself so they could leave, when a voice stopped him.

"Mr. Potter," Narcissa Malfoy said. "I understand that you are the reason my son is not in Azkaban. You have our thanks."

Malfoy's posture hadn't seemed tense, but he instantly seemed to unwind as his mother stepped up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He nodded at Harry, and muttered something that might have been "thanks". Harry couldn't blame him. The situation had to be awkward for everyone, yet Narcissa Malfoy was treating it like teatime. For her, it probably was.

"And Ms. Granger." Hermione seemed to take a deep breath before lifting her eyes to look grimly at Mrs. Malfoy, but she was smiling. "I hear you conveyed the Minister's message. Thank you."

Hermione's eyes widened, but she managed a nod.

Harry had been dreading how they would excuse themselves, but once again Narcissa handled everything gracefully, saying something about them having other business, and she was sure they were busy as well, and it had been wonderful talking to them. She and her son had swept off somewhere, and Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys were left dazed but relieved.

In the lift, Harry realized that they hadn't spoken a single word to the Malfoys.

As they were going through security on the way out, Harry thought he heard Hermione mutter, "I am not an owl!" But when he looked at her quizzically, she avoided his stare.

Ron just looked confused, but by the time they arrived back at the Burrow, everyone was asking Bill and Fleur questions and life finally seemed to be back to normal.

 **Chapter word count: 1513**

 **Total word count: 6729**

 **Reviews are still welcome. They will** ** _always_** **be welcome.**


	5. But If You Close your Eyes

**Sup guys! BelenDlaw, thank you so much for reviewing. This story is nowhere near done! I'm aiming for 50K words in thirty chapters. Hopefully if I stay on schedule I can make that this month.**

After the trial, there was no more talk about Death Eaters and justice. Everyone agreed that they were glad Malfoy was free, but they still didn't like him, and that was that.

One golden day, Ron tentatively suggested a game of Quidditch. It was well received. Everyone scrambled outside, even Hermione (though she brought a book). Harry slowed as realized that he no longer had a broom, but was caught up in the rush to the shed. Without looking at him, George offered Harry Fred's broom. Swallowing, Harry took it.

In the air, they had a bit of trouble figuring out who was on whose side. Harry and Ginny both wanted to play seeker, but realized that a two on two game didn't allow for all the roles. Eventually they decided it should be Ron and Harry against George and Ginny.

They agreed not to keep score, but when Ron claimed they were winning, Ginny disagreed and threw an apple at his head. He threw one back. Soon it evolved into a full-out dodgeball tournament that showed no sign of stopping.

That evening, as everyone piled their dishes into an enormous stack in the sink, a handsome tawny owl fluttered through the window. He had four envelopes bearing the Hogwarts crest.

"Oh, I wondered if they'd send something," Mrs. Weasley said absentmindedly. "Ron, get over here, you have a letter… you too, Hermione…"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny each opened their letters. Harry skimmed his; it was something about them wanting to check if he would be returning this year. He half-smiled until he realized this was not Professor McGonagall showing a sense of humor and ironically asking if he was planning on taking another year off, but a genuine question that was being sent to every Hogwarts student. There would be some families who wouldn't want their child to go back to a place where so many had died.

Harry checked the box indicating that he would indeed be returning to Hogwarts, and looked at the second paper. It gave an outline of the plan for the year: as a seventh-year, he would only have to learn one year of curriculum in the next year, as opposed to the two every student that had been in first through sixth year the previous year would have to learn.

He put the papers down. Ron and Hermione were doing the same, but Ginny was looking at a third piece of paper. "What's that?" Harry asked, nodding at it.

"My grades from last year," Ginny replied, showing him. Ron and Hermione peered over his shoulder.

"Ginny… you only passed two classes! What happened?" Hermione sounded shocked.

"I was a little busy trying to avoid being tortured and trying to get the Carrows off everyone else's backs. Nothing was working, so we hid out in Room of Requirement. I didn't exactly have a lot of time to study. _That's_ what happened." Ginny's voice was barely even, but she managed not to sound angry. Hermione nodded, thoroughly chastened.

Ron attempted to defuse the situation. "Technically we didn't pass any classes last year, so…"

It worked. Harry laughed, and Hermione managed to crack a smile.

George, overhearing them, yelled, "Mom! Ginny got the highest marks out of everyone in this house from last year!"

Ron and Harry began chanting, "Party! Party! Party!" With some amusement, Hermione joined in.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, bustling over. "Well done, Ginny, I'm very proud, but I'm afraid that tomorrow is Harry's birthday so your celebration will have to wait."

Red-faced, Ginny tried to explain that she didn't want a party, but no one would hear any of it. Harry tried to join in on convincing her that they were going to celebrate whether she liked it or not, but was a bit distracted. His birthday was tomorrow?

"Mrs. Weasley, I know I've said this every year, but I really don't want to make a big deal out of my birthday…"

She patted his cheek. "I won't promise not to fuss over you, but we'll try not to let the reporters at you, all right?"

The thought made him blanch. He didn't know why he considered the Burrow immune to reporters. Just because they'd never come there before didn't mean they couldn't.

* * *

The morning of his birthday, he peeked out the curtains. Luckily, there were no reporters. He glanced over at Ron's bed. It was empty. Frowning, Harry noticed that the house was suspiciously quiet.

He opened his door cautiously. Nothing happened, so he stepped outside. The hallway was clear, and he made it to the stairs without incident, feeling safe. They couldn't surprise him on the stairs, right? That was dangerous.

He made it halfway down when he heard a loud, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Somehow he landed on a mattress, and he had to hand it to them, it was a lot more surprising than it would have been if they'd been all the way downstairs.

They had cake for breakfast, and Mrs. Weasley tried to convince him that she had put very little effort into the cake, and the fact that it wasn't four-layered with moving snitches was her way of not making a big deal out of his birthday. Looking down at the three-layer cake that had at least four shades of blue icing, Harry refused to believe that her effort was small.

With a substantial dent in the cake, everyone started throwing presents at him. Harry started getting overwhelmed. Everyone was talking and laughing at once, and he couldn't make out anything until a quiet voice near him said, "Harry… can we talk?"

He turned and saw Ginny and nodded without thinking. She gestured with her head for him to follow her, so he did. He realized that they hadn't actually been alone together all summer. And exactly one year ago, she had kissed him…

They were in her bedroom, and she was looking at him. She hadn't changed her room much, from what he remembered of it from last year. He should probably stop thinking about last year and focus on now.

"Harry, what are we?"

He didn't know. What should he tell her? The truth might be a good idea…

"I don't know," he said. Whew. Good job, brain.

She was still looking at him. There was something determined in her eyes, but also something hesitant, as if she were steeling herself to do something difficult. Harry didn't know what it was, but he didn't want it to be…

What? What didn't he want? What _did_ he want? He had a feeling that he should keep talking. Maybe that would make it easier to do whatever she felt she had to. Maybe that would ensure that they wanted the same thing.

"I don't even know what I am right now," he confessed. "Am I a savior, or just some kid who didn't do enough? What am I supposed to do now- oversee every trial, spill everything to the newspapers? I can hardly figure out what to do with myself, and that's with everyone shoving their opinions at me all the time. I just don't know." He hesitated, then stopped. What else was there to say? He looked up and saw the hesitancy gone from Ginny's eyes. Well. Hopefully his baring of his soul had helped her.

"I don't know what I am either," she said. For some reason, Harry hadn't expected that, but then again he really had no idea what to expect right now. "I don't know what to do. All I can think of is settling all the unanswered questions- such as what we are." She paused. "That's one more thing I don't know, so I think the best thing for us right now is to- well- you're done with the whole avoiding me to protect me thing, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Okay, so- Oh, I don't know. We're not the same people we were before the war," she said, with some weariness. "Last year I thought that the protection thing was the only thing keeping us apart. Now, well, if I don't know who I am, how can there be an us?"

"Are you breaking up with me?" Harry asked. He didn't really feel terrible about this, more amused.

"No, _you_ broke up with _me_ ," she replied. Luckily, she seemed amused as well. "I guess I'm just checking where we stand. I don't want you feeling like you're tied down to me and then be disappointed later. People change, after all."

"You're not tying me down," Harry said immediately.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "I just told you I wasn't. So, we're cool?"

"We're cool," he told her. And they were.

She hugged him, and they walked back downstairs together.

* * *

The rest of the summer flew by. For once, Harry wasn't really looking forward to going back to Hogwarts. He'd always thought of it as his home, but home was people. And there were too many people that wouldn't be there this year.

He dismissed these thoughts. He was too busy playing Quidditch, laughing at Bill's outrageous stories, and hearing about dragons whenever Charlie managed to drop by. Harry wanted to stay in the little bubble the Burrow provided. He didn't need the outside world.

But the outside world thought it needed him. About every other time he glanced at a headline, it was asking whether or not he'd be continuing to enforce justice, and how his movements would be closely watched as a guideline on how to get through these difficult times. As if he knew how to get through anything.

So for one last month of summer, he laughed and played and avoided thinking about what was to come.

 **Chapter word count: 1623**

 **Total word count: 8352**

 **I accidentally got behind a day so I'll have to write two chapters in one day as soon as I have time. Sometimes I forget that I write for fun, and reviews are just a bonus, but motivational reviews would be highly appreciated.**


	6. No Way This Year Anyone's Gonna Die

**Still alive, writing, and procrastinating. Thanks for reviewing, BelenDlaw. I always mention my reviewers. And yes, you were the only one.**

"Hurry up!" Mrs. Weasley barked. "George, get Ron's trunk! Ginny, do you really think you'll need all those quills to be separated and individually wrapped? You'd have twice as much space if you just threw them all in together!"

As usual, the morning of September First was rushed and unorganized. Hermione was the only one who had packed the night before. Harry had been living out of his trunk all summer, so he was the first to announce he was ready that morning. Percy nodded approvingly at him, then looked at Ron and Ginny, who were taking a break from packing to eat breakfast.

"What?" Ron said, his mouth full.

Percy sighed. "Never mind."

Eventually, Ron and Ginny heaved their trunks into the car. It was small, black, and nondescript, and Harry briefly wondered if it was from the Ministry. At least it didn't have flags on it this time.

On the way to King's Cross, Harry thought he noticed at least two similar cars near them. Did he have an escort? He supposed he should be thankful, but no one had tried to attack him since the war. Shouldn't they be using their money somewhere else?

Once they reached the station, the black cars slipped away. There were plenty of men in suits, but they couldn't all be working for the Ministry- could they? Surely some of them had to be Muggles? Harry wasn't sure of anything anymore.

They got to platform 9 ¾ smoothly for once. The barrier didn't freeze before they went through, nobody got separated and lost, and literally nothing went wrong. It was uncanny. Harry supposed that after all these years they should have gotten it right sooner, but things had always had a way of changing at the last minute.

Not this time. They got onto the platform half an hour early. George, Percy, Bill, and Fleur helped them load their trunks onto the train, then they all stood around awkwardly. They had never had to deal with this before.

From the corner of his eye Harry spotted a whip of robes as a wand was drawn from a sleeve. He whirled around, drawing his own wand, until he saw it was pointed at Blaise Zabini. A Slytherin. He probably deserved it. Harry turned his back in time to see the Weasleys and Hermione look away from the scene as well.

Percy asked Fleur a rather forced-sounding question about transportation to Beauxbatons, which she answered cheerfully enough, it seemed. It worked to pass the time. They were grouped together in a little huddle. No one wanted to leave before they had to. In those last few minutes there was no one but them. There were no problems, only a wondrous world of magic Harry had longed to explore at eleven. Now, knowing of the not-so-wondrous things, Harry wasn't sure the wizarding world had ever really been as good as it had seemed.

Eventually, with students flooding the platform, Mrs. Weasley let them go to ensure they could get a compartment together. They did, and all too soon the train was leaving as they waved out the window.

Harry watched Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Percy, and George grow smaller and wondered when the last time was that he'd seen so many people gathered together to wave goodbye.

They sat quietly for a while, him, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. Nobody wanted to talk about going back to Hogwarts. They had no exciting summer stories to tell that the other's had not been there for.

A rap at the door made them start, but it was only Neville and Luna. They slid the door open, entered, and sat down. As soon as they did, a spell flashed outside the door, and they all jumped up and peered outside into the corridor. There was a student on the floor, and others laughing- ah. It was Nott. Another Slytherin. Appeased, Harry sank back down into his seat. At least the school was uniting on something.

Neville asked politely about their summers, and for a while the compartment was full of chatter. Everyone was eager to relive their summer glory. Ron was describing an amazing save he'd made in one particularly memorable game of Quidditch when Hermione said, "Do you think they'll even have Quidditch this year?"

The talk died. Ginny stared at her. "I suppose it might be difficult," she said slowly. "And there have been accidents in the past. With all the new security, they might change a lot of things."

Not really wanting to talk about Quidditch accidents or the changes at Hogwarts, Harry stared out through the door. A few students were passing by. All three had dark circles under their eyes, and when one of the girls looked over her shoulder to yell something at someone behind them, Harry saw a thick, ropy scar peeking out from beneath the neck of her robes. He looked back into the compartment. Everyone was silent. "Luna, what did you do this summer?" he asked.

She smiled dreamily. "I'm glad you asked. We couldn't hunt for Crumple-Horned Snorcacks, of course, so we rehabilitated the Nargles. They were simply swarming our house, you see-"

Harry smiled to himself as he watched everyone hang on her every word, grateful and eager to hear about her reality, which had no Death Eaters, no wars, and no deaths. He let himself become immersed in her tale as well.

"And we even found a few Wrackspurts in Daddy's study, which was very worrying. He usually never attracts them. Of course, this was after he got out of Azkaban…"

Harry started. He'd forgotten about Luna's father's attempt to betray them to the Death Eaters. He had been desperate, and saving Luna was a very good cause, but it had been very inconvenient at the time. Of course, it would have been much more inconvenient for them if he'd gone to Azkaban.

Everyone else was also looking disconcerted. Luna was supposed to live in her own dreamland, not the same world as the rest of them. They needed her to tell them fiction. But she was telling her own story, which was never fiction to her. And her life had been in no way shielded from the war.

If Luna noticed the uneasy feeling brewing, she never paused. "But we got them out in the end, and I think we introduced them to some very nice people. They should be quite lovely together."

Ron held up a hand. "Are you saying you gave Nargles and Wrackspurts to other people? But I thought they were- I don't know- bad?"

She smiled at him. "Nothing is bad in moderation. A few Nargles keep people interesting, and Wrackspurts keep them on their toes." If that were the case, Luna had all Nargles and no Wrackspurts, Harry thought to himself.

Luna went on to describe the room she'd like to have in Ravenclaw Tower. She wanted a few more plants, a hammock, and a skylight. Harry had a feeling none of this would happen, but he sat back, nodded, and occasionally asked questions. The compartment was once more content. As Luna discussed the benefits of having a few trees, such as attracting small Nargle families, Harry thought about her calming attitude. He supposed that none of this was new for her. She had always been living in a war-torn world. The rest of them had only recently had their eyes forced open.

Prefects came by to let them know it was time to change, not meeting their eyes. Harry wasn't sure if they just didn't want to appear star-struck, or if they actively disliked him. Or maybe they were trying to hide the dark circles under their eyes.

Changed and physically ready, the six sat tensely. The conversation had died down again. This time Luna showed no desire to talk to fill the silence. She seemed content, though.

Nobody spoke as they rounded the corner that revealed a stunning view of Hogwarts. From the outside, the castle looked impeccable, as if nothing had happened. As they got closer, however, something different marred the view Harry was used to. In front of the school was a large iron dragon, a memorial to the war. Harry got a lump in his throat- here was a very large and solid reminder that could not be ignored. A low buzz filled the train as nearly every student started talking at once- except their compartment, it seemed. They sat in silence despite the conversations around them.

As the train slowed, Harry spotted several Ministry officials standing by grimly. What were they doing here? Part of the new security plan, he supposed, but he still rebelled against the thought of Ministry interference. It had never worked before, that he had seen.

So sure, no one got attacked under the watchful eye of the Ministry as the students disembarked. Harry doubted things would have gone any differently without their presence, but he knew the Ministry would claim that they were the solution.

As usual, Hagrid yelled out for the first years to follow him. They did, after some confusion as to whether first years meant the returning first years who would be completing both first and second year, or the first years who had never attended Hogwarts before. Hagrid got it sorted in the end (it was the first years that had never before been to Hogwarts), but the difference in protocol unsettled Harry. Hagrid hadn't even had time to bellow his usual cheerful question as to how Harry was doing to him over the crowd. Trying to get over this miniscule break in routine, Harry told himself there would be plenty of changes and everyone was stressed and he needed to get used to things being different. But he didn't want things to be different.

At least the walk to the castle was the same. He went in and sat down, avoiding looking at anything that might be slightly changed.

 **Chapter word count: 1666**

 **Total word count: 10018**

 **Reviews are still appreciated :)**


	7. Put On your Doll Faces

**I live. Thanks for joining us, Elizabeth! I hope y'all enjoy the ride!**

At the Gryffindor table, Harry focused on the warmth of the candles. This was familiar; this was safe. He was sitting with the other seventh years, and they were chatting and laughing easily. Harry was trying not to look up. There was too much he didn't want to see.

The great doors creaked open, revealing a stream of timid-looking first-years. Professor McGonagall informed them of their task: putting on the Sorting Hat. There was a sudden silence in the hall. No one had seen the Hat since Voldemort had lit it on fire. Did it still work?

The tear in the Hat's brim widened as if it were opening its mouth. There was a collective sigh of relief as the Hat began to sing:

 _Once more they've asked me to divide you,_

 _To give you Housemates to protect and guide you,_

 _But I must request you put no stock_

 _In House colors for determining those to mock._

 _For every House has virtues fair_

 _And all deserve respect and care._

 _Gryffindor boasts brave hearts,_

 _Hufflepuff finds worthiness in everyday arts._

 _Ravenclaw values those willing to learn,_

 _And Slytherin the ones who discern._

 _All have more qualities than I could name_

 _But the past matters little; make your own fame!_

There was polite applause, as usual, but as McGonagall began calling out names of students to come forward, Harry leaned across the table toward Hermione and hissed, "What did that even mean?"

"Well, it was about unity again," she said slowly, breaking off to clap as a new Gryffindor joined them, "but I have no idea why it listed those as the House values. Of course Gryffindor is brave, and Ravenclaw is for everyone who wants to learn. But "worthiness in everyday arts"? I suppose that has to do with being brave about the little things, but I'd think working hard would have been more important to list. And Slytherin…" She shook her head.

"They discern," Ron said. "Sure, by blood and money."

"Yeah, what happened to cunning and ambitious? At least those qualities could have been good enough to actually call qualities," Harry said. He clapped automatically at the addition of another new Gryffindor.

"I suppose cunning requires clear sight," Hermione began reluctantly, but Ron scoffed.

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," he said. "The Hat just wanted to be nice about calling them bigots, that's all."

Just then, a louder clapping arose. Looking up, Harry saw that all the first years had been sorted. "Finally!" Ron exclaimed, all feelings about Slytherin qualities (or lack of) gone.

But instead of food appearing on the tables, Professor McGonagall- actually, Harry supposed he should be calling her _Headmistress_ McGonagall- rose to her feet. "I'm sure you've all noticed a few changes so far," she said. Harry looked around reluctantly- the most obvious changes were the Ministry members standing around the room, eyes constantly moving, alert and ready. He supposed having a few fully-trained Aurors around couldn't be too bad, but as he looked back toward the staff table, his newfound confidence shattered. There were several Ministry members sitting there, and they didn't look like Aurors.

"We have some additional security this year," McGonagall continued, her lips thin as if she didn't believe it was strictly necessary. "We also have some Ministry officials to ensure that nothing gets out of hand." Her lips thinned even more. What could these pompous old men do anyway? Sit on them until they decided to change their evil ways? "I'm sure you'll join me in welcoming them as they say a few words." She sat down.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged incredulous looks, but clapped. They didn't dare defy their Head of House. Was she still that? Harry had no idea. She had to be far too busy being Headmistress to be their Head. Did she still teach Transfiguration? Harry looked around the staff table and fervently hoped that she wasn't being replaced in her subject by one of the old wizards sitting there.

One of them heaved himself to his feet. "Thank you," he said in a reedy-sounding voice. "Due to the events of last year, we will be doing everything in our power to ensure they do not repeat themselves. We believe we have determined what these events stemmed from, and we will be watching that root very carefully." He smiled blithely at the Slytherin table and continued. "Every student here should feel safe, regardless of their family status. To perpetuate a sense of fairness, we will be holding a small contest.

"We cannot continue referring to the events of last year as "the war". We must name the war so we can teach it to our descendants! The Ministry's contest is simple: submit a name for the war. These submissions will not be anonymous, but we assure you that the situation of the submitter will not be a factor in our decision-making process. Thank you." He smiled widely and sat down. He seemed to be looking forward to the feast even more than the students.

Harry clapped slowly, since everyone else was. His mind in whirling. Umbridge's Ministry speech from fifth year had been hard for him to understand, and she had always favored the Slytherins. Now, he had understood every word (though he doubted much of their truth) and they were obviously meant to suppress the Slytherins.

"Yes, thank you for those wise words," McGonagall said in a distinctly unimpressed tone. The Ministry official did not seem to pick up on this, however, and beamed. "Now let us eat!"

Food finally appeared on the tables, and the Hall filled with chatter. Harry, Ron, and Hermione just looked at each other, until Ron shrugged. "Doesn't sound like they'll be hurting us, I guess."

Harry nodded and pushed the issue out of his mind as he dug into the feast.

* * *

Harry was happy to see that McGonagall was still teaching Transfiguration, although it probably wasn't good for her stress levels. Leaving her class, he immediately grabbed onto Ron's sleeve. Behind them, Hermione grabbed Harry's. The hallways were crazy and easy to get swallowed up in.

Ahead of them, Pansy Parkinson stumbled. The students behind her immediately began yelling at her to move on, and a group of sixth-years standing to the side with wands drawn sniggered. Harry rolled his eyes and kept moving.

The rush continued all the way to Gryffindor Tower, where it suddenly ceased and they were able to climb through the portrait without worrying about being jostled by the stream of students. Flinging his bookbag away carelessly, Harry collapsed on the nearest couch. "What's the hurry anyway?"

"The lower classes have more classes each day, and they're all different lengths," Hermione answered immediately. "A lot of them have to go back to their dormitories to get different books since they can't carry them all around all day."

"Didn't stop you," Ron muttered. She tossed a broken quill at him half-heartedly.

* * *

The next day warranted a similar rush in the hallways. One Hufflepuff boy started screaming at a Ravenclaw who walked over the spot where his little sister had been killed. His housemates quieted him, and the rush carried him and his offender away, but Millicent Bulstrode nodded and made an effort to go around the spot.

Harry supposed that was a nice gesture, but he couldn't go around asking everyone where their family members had died. No one wanted to think about that, especially not him. Also, as he neared the spot, a sudden increased pressure of students behind him made it impossible to go around. He shrugged and kept moving, not looking down as he crossed the spot.

* * *

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he finally came across an empty corridor. He wanted to ask Professor Slughorn about the properties of porcupine quills when used with herbal potions. The book had mentioned their effects when added to potions including chamomile bark, which was enough for Ron, but Harry wanted to get this essay right. He didn't dare ask Hermione, who was scribbling away intensely, so he went on his own, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that if it had been Snape teaching, he would have mentioned which pages to look for the answer in, or even set a better essay question that actually addressed something they should know about.

At the end of the hallway, he ran across a small group of Ravenclaw fifth years. He nodded to them and they nodded back, but as he moved to pass them, one hissed, "Do you mind not going out there right now? You'll be in our line of fire."

"Yeah," another one muttered, "stay and watch the show!"

Confused, Harry hesitated, which they took as acceptance. They giggled and motioned for him to crouch down with them. He remained standing, not sure he wanted to be a part of what they were planning, but stood behind them. He didn't want to be hit accidentally, after all.

Harry heard a door swing open, and voices spilled out. The chatter continued while coming toward them, making it easy to pinpoint exactly how far away from the corner they were. Harry frowned. The voices sounded awfully young…

They rounded the corner, and the Ravenclaws let loose several curses, hexes, and jinxes at the same time so Harry couldn't hear most of them. Harry noticed the green- and silver-striped ties before a slash of white light blinded him. Before them stood Draco Malfoy, wand flashing to deflect every spell. He didn't even look surprised. He got every spell, too, except one he couldn't quite catch, so he flung himself in front of its target, a girl who must have been in second year. It was a leg-locker curse, and he cast the counterspell on himself immediately.

Harry stood rigid with shock as Draco cautiously herded the second year Slytherins past the Ravenclaws. Why would the Ravenclaws attack second years? Sure, he had noticed that people weren't getting along with Slytherin very well, but second years? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. As Draco past him, he made eye contact. It occurred to Harry that he looked exactly how he'd looked at his trial- resigned to the world's treatment of him.

 **Chapter word count: 1105**

 **Total word count: 11723**

 **Reactions? Requests? Reviews are appreciated.**


	8. I See Fire Hollowing Souls

**Yo.**

Over the next few days, Harry made a conscious effort to notice how students were treating each other. He had been avoiding really noticing the Slytherins. He was sure that their situation was entirely different than those of the other students, but he had never thought they were being bullied, he'd just assumed that. Well. That they were Death Eaters toeing the line, and not an accurate representation or part of the Hogwarts mood.

Looking around, Harry had to concede that they were very much a part of the Hogwarts mood, and very few people were ignoring them. He hadn't thought much of the attacks on the older students. They'd been on the wrong side, after all, and it made sense that there would be some resentment against them. But the attacks on the younger students, though mostly petty, were undeniably unprovoked.

The Ministry officials weren't helping either. They could be found by the dozens in the hallway, but never attempted to stop the attacks. In fact, they would even award points for "promoting a safe environment".

Harry was furiously frustrated but had no idea how to respond to all of this. He was supposed to be the savior of the wizarding world, for crying out loud! Shouldn't people listen to him?

The problem, Harry reflected wryly, was that he wasn't speaking at all. Every time he witnessed an attack, he hesitated. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. He wasn't even sure if it was his place to speak. So he brushed off each failed attempt to make his voice heard, assuring himself that it wasn't important.

But it _was_ important. Harry knew that the Slytherins were experiencing a more extreme form of the distaste Umbridge had shown for Gryffindors in fifth year. Except they had no teachers or Ministry regulating how much harm was done to them. Harry had had Dumbledore. The Slytherins had no one but each other.

So Harry tried to convince himself to speak. He tried to come up with words that would always work, but every situation seemed just a little different and he would hesitate, thinking that the words he'd prepared wouldn't be quite appropriate, and the moment would be gone.

He was brewing over this in the hallway when he saw two Hufflepuffs aiming their wands at a fifth-year Slytherin. He opened his mouth, determined to say something this time, but Hermione noticed his expression and laid a hand on his arm.

"It's all right, Harry," she said soothingly. "They're only getting a taste of their own medicine, nothing too dangerous. You don't have to be the hero all the time, you know."

Ron nodded and assisted Hermione in sweeping Harry away. Harry was left bewildered, tossed about by the crowd, unable to choose his own steps.

He'd lost another opportunity, and more of his newfound confidence. Weren't Gryffindors supposed to be brave? But it was true that he was always being the hero, and he shouldn't have to do that all time. It was high time he had a break from that hero business, Harry thought. But it wasn't as easy as switching it off. The situation seemed far too much like many he'd been in. He couldn't just let this continue.

Harry had always been looking for potential attacks during the past few years, but at Hogwarts he'd tended to ignore potential dangers. He felt safe and protected, and besides, there were always a few harmless jinxes thrown in the hallways. He didn't need to fix that. But now he put his scanning back to work, and was surprised to see just how many students were prepared to throw a spell at a moment's notice. He'd never before noticed what a dangerous zone the Hogwarts halls were. Eventually, he got better at spotting the difference between those who were prepared and those who were actually planning on throwing a spell at someone.

It was a useful skill, and he needed it as Ron and Hermione appeared to have noticed his frowns around the attacks. As he learned how to spot potential attackers, they learned how to shepherd him away from the dangerous spots. They hadn't said anything, but where he frowned at the injustice of the attacks, they suppressed smiles as they turned away.

This didn't really bother Harry. He knew that they didn't like Slytherin, and he didn't either. Besides, there were real problems such as the attacks. They weren't joining in on them, so Harry didn't see the issue with their attitude.

Harry was able to excuse them, but he couldn't excuse his own behavior. He knew all too well that silence was seen as agreement. Regardless of his friends' opinions, he had to speak up.

So he did. When he noticed three Ravenclaws pointing their wands at two Slytherin third-years, Harry stepped in front of the spell, blocked it, and demanded, "What's your problem?"

They looked at him aghast. Luckily they were only fifth-years, so they had some respect for him. "Well, they're Slytherins, H-hmm." Despite the situation, Harry had to bite back a laugh. It appeared they were unsure if they were allowed to call him by his first name. Harry decided that their uncertainty wasn't hurting anyone, and continued.

"So? I suppose you think they had something to do with the war, and deserve to be punished, or something. I'm sure you noticed they were third-years, since you knew their schedule well enough to attempt to ambush them, so you should also know that there is no way they could have any of the blame for the war. They never did anything to you, and you're just going to judge them on their House?"

There was dead silence. For once, no one was moving in the halls. The Ravenclaws stared at him. Harry didn't really know what he was talking about anymore anyway, so he just glared back.

The tense moment ended when a class with a different schedule ended a few seconds later. Students burst frantically out of the classroom, going every direction. They didn't seem to notice the hallway standstill in their haste. They carried everyone else along with them, and Harry got separated from Ron and Hermione. He didn't know what to say to them right then anyway.

Glad for the respite, Harry let himself be carried along until he was deposited in a nearly empty hallway. He ducked into a nearby unused classroom, his mind spinning. What had he just done? Would it be all over the papers? Would he be misrepresented once again?

Harry couldn't remember half of what he said, but he had a feeling it wasn't what he had rehearsed. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, sighing. He was trying to decide how much time he should give himself before facing the world when he heard a quiet cough.

Eyes flying open, Harry saw Draco Malfoy standing across the door from him, with about the same distance between him and the door that Harry had. Harry appreciated the symmetry, but detachedly. What was he doing here? How had he found him? Unsure, Harry thought about opening his mouth, but Malfoy beat him to it.

"I have a deal for you."

Malfoy's face was guarded, but he was talking to him, which was more than Harry had managed to do. "I heard about you yelling at those Ravenclaws."

"Um, yeah," Harry said. Smooth, Harry, real smooth. This situation was arguably the most bizarre he'd ever been in. How did Malfoy even know about an event that happened literally minutes ago? Harry had no answer and doubted he would receive one. He also had no idea what Malfoy meant by a deal. He supposed that he might be trying to persuade Harry to continue to argue on Slytherin's behalf, but what could Malfoy offer him? "And…?"

"And I heard that it sounded rather unplanned." Malfoy looked pained. "Which is good, I guess, since that makes people think it was natural and not just you reading someone's script, which I assume you weren't… This went wrong. Can we start over?"

"Okay?" Harry was seriously confused. Malfoy losing his composure and rambling? What was the world coming too? He also wasn't smirking, but Harry had grown used to that in the past week. It wasn't exactly a time to smirk.

"I have a deal for you," Malfoy said again. It didn't have quite the effect it had the first time, but he looked slightly surer of himself. "It appears you aren't supporting attacks on younger students and have been attempting to make your feelings known. You've been failing."

"I know that," Harry said. Insults were more familiar. Malfoy's earlier ramble had almost seemed to include a compliment, however awkward. This blunt evaluation of his lack of skill was much more natural.

"Obviously, the Slytherins do not mind being supported. They do mind when their support has no speaking skills and blunders through a confrontation like a blind dragon."

"Well, if you'd rather I did nothing-"

"I just said that we appreciated your effort."

"Actually you said you appreciated the thought and hated the effort."

Harry half-hoped Malfoy would refute this, both so Harry could feel his effort was not hated and also to perpetuate the familiar bickering, but Malfoy just nodded. "Fine. You have the right idea but no clue what to do with it. That's where our side of the deal comes in.

"In return for your support, we will show you how to demonstrate it without making a fool of yourself."

"That sounds like that only benefits you," Harry said.

"It does," Malfoy said bluntly, "but you just made your beliefs very clear. You stated that there was- ah- "no way they could have any of the blame for the war". Very eloquent, Potter."

"Fine," Harry said. He supposed the deal would accomplish his goal of eliminating petty attacks. "What do I do?"

 **Chapter word count: 1667**

 **Total word count: 13380**

 **My outline made this scene a bit longer but I needed to sleep.**


	9. The Sun Won't Shine on the Both of Us

**Happy Veteran's Day. Someday I will make up the chapters for the two days I skipped, but today is not that day. Thanks for reviewing, readingaddict24!**

Malfoy didn't smile, but a look of relief came into his eyes. "You seem to be under the impression that you need to block every attack physically and verbally, but it would really be better to prevent them preemptively."

"How?" Harry frowned. He would have thought Malfoy would be happy to have him fight with words like a politician, but then again, Malfoy had just told him that his verbal attacks sucked, basically. Harry supposed Malfoy would know when a person's speech-making skills were weak enough to be totally ineffective.

"Show the world that you care about the welfare of the younger Slytherins by being around them. No one will attack them with you there, and it should also send the message that you care about them. That should cause people to readjust their own opinions. After it stops being a scandal, anyway," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Harry noted how Malfoy had specified that he should hang out with only the younger Slytherins. He didn't seem to be asking for Harry to protect the older Slytherins such as Malfoy himself. Harry supposed that they could probably look after themselves, but it was more likely that Malfoy thought he wouldn't care about the safety of the Slytherins who had been Death Eaters and could not claim to be without blame for the war.

Harry decided that he would have to make it clear that he would be protecting the older Slytherins as well, and his train of thought moved on to what Malfoy was asking him to do. He wasn't really too psyched about spending time with Slytherins, but he had to admit to himself that it would work. And since the other students needed to witness his approval via his physical presence, presumably, the hanging out would occur in public. So it wasn't like he'd have to be _alone_ with any of them.

He realized Malfoy was staring at him, as if expecting him to announce that he'd changed his mind. "Okay," Harry said resolutely. "So when do we hang out?"

Malfoy's expression cleared, even though he hadn't been frowning. The lack of his usual smirk seemed more surreal than the civil discussion, Harry thought, then focused on as Malfoy opened his mouth. "In the hallways, between classes mostly. I can give you some schedules so you can figure out where and when to meet them, when you can." Harry noticed with a mixture of amusement and disapproval that despite his use of the word "we", Malfoy was continuing to refer to "them" as the Slytherins Harry was to hang out with. Apparently he still didn't think Harry would, or should, extend his influence to benefit him as well.

Harry continued to use inclusive pronouns as they discussed when a good time would be for Malfoy to give him the schedules, and by their last exchange, Malfoy was too. Harry smiled inside at the progress, despite his uneasiness at the prospect of being with Slytherins.

They parted, but Harry stopped. A thought had just occurred to him. Turning around, he called, "Hey, Malfoy!"

Draco turned, and Harry continued. "That day that the Ravenclaws attacked… you were the only seventh year there. Why was that?"

Looking Harry straight in the eyes, Malfoy replied, "I seem to recall that you were there too."

"Yeah, but I hadn't planned on it, it was just a coincidence." Harry shrugged. "But I got the impression that you had been planning to be there."

As he said it out loud, Harry realized the truth of it. Malfoy had been there deliberately for the second years. He'd been expecting the attack. Malfoy just looked at him as if he could see his thought processes, then turned away.

"Whatever you say, Potter."

* * *

"You're going to _what_?"

"Hang out with the Slytherins," Harry repeated. "Well, I say hang out. I'll really just be at the same area as them at the same time."

"That would be hanging out," Hermione said. Her eyes narrowed. "Harry, I don't know what you think you're accomplishing here, but you can't trust them. They-"

"Come on, first and second years?" Harry said easily, despite his own internal misgivings. "And really, we don't even know anyone that's not in our year, I hardly think we can judge how evil they are."

"But, Harry, they're _Slytherins_ ," Ron whined. "They're all the same. Next you'll be helping them win the House Cup, I suppose."

Harry scoffed. "Hardly. This has nothing to do with me liking them. But like them or not, they're humans, and they deserve to be treated as such." Glancing at the clock, his eyes grew wide and he sprang up. "AND I sort of have to go right now, so, see you later? Bye!"

Harry dashed off, hoping his friends weren't really angry.

* * *

Harry met up with a group of fourth year Slytherins. They were accompanied by Draco Malfoy, who nodded at him. Harry had no idea what to say, but luckily for him, the crowded hallway made talking impossible. He just walked along with them and did his best to appear casual and comfortable with his company. He got plenty of strange looks, but no one threw any hexes.

He supposed he should have been concerned about his image, and Malfoy's prediction of a scandal, but the looming threat of a scandal seemed something to look forward to. Nearly everything Harry had ever done had resulted in a scandal, and the idea that this might too solidified his belief that he was doing the right thing. His strides became more confident, and he found that he was smiling at the shocked looks he was receiving.

At the door of Defense against the Dark Arts, Harry and Malfoy stood by as the fourth years filed into the classroom. Most of them looked at Harry as they passed and nodded, a few plucking up the courage to mouth a quiet _thank you_.

Harry hadn't really expected that, but he was gratified. He was also rather appalled. These kids were nowhere near being monsters, and felt the need to thank him just for walking with them. The world was really messed up.

As the last of them entered the classroom, Malfoy nodded at Harry. "You can make the trip with the first years?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes," Harry said. "Er- Are they real first years, or repeat first years?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but if it was a sign of amusement, Harry couldn't tell. "Real first years," he confirmed. "Pansy will be there too." They looked at each other for a moment until Malfoy sighed. "Potter, don't you have Charms?"

"Right," Harry said hastily, walking away. He'd gotten used to his relaxed schedule. It was time for him to readjust.

* * *

The trip with the first years went through hallways that weren't quite as crowded. This meant Harry noticed more hands twitching toward wands. He felt a surge of anger; why would anyone want to attack children they had never even met before?

The decrease of students in the hallways also meant that the noise level was down and students could talk to each other without shouting. Harry was sure this would be awkward for all of them, as he still had no idea what to say, but the first years had no such problems.

"What was the war like?"

Wow. He hadn't been asked directly about that since he'd been at the mercy of the press. He tried to give a sincere answer that wouldn't offend any families, but he didn't get more than two sentences out before he was interrupted.

"What's your favorite animal?"

Harry was very aware that he couldn't say snakes or lions. "Owls?" he offered.

He spotted some satisfied nodding. "Is Draco your best friend?"

" _No_ ," Harry said.

Draco happened to be passing and yelled out, "You don't have to sound so horrified, you know!" before he was swept away.

 _Was he being_ playful _?_ Harry wondered, but he had no time to think about this before the onslaught of questions continued.

* * *

Harry met a group of Slytherin second years coming out of Transfiguration to walk them back to their dorm. This time, he had no senior Slytherin co-chaperoning with him. It would have been awkward, since the second years were a bit more reserved in their questioning, but Harry had grown more confident since the morning and his apparent ease around them led them to become comfortable around him.

They were chatting about Quidditch as they neared the dungeons. Other Slytherins returning to their common room joined their group and the conversation. A second year had to ask if Quidditch was even happening that year.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, but I think I'll go crazy if they don't have it."

There was a murmur of agreement as Harry rounded the corner ahead of them. It suddenly stopped.

Looking back, Harry said, "What?" They were all looking at him.

"How do you know the way to the Slytherin dorms?"

Harry really didn't want to get into that. "I'll just go then," he said, raising his hands in the air in mock surrender and hoping that the levity of their conversation wasn't fake.

There was an instant clamor of protest. Harry didn't get all of it, but he heard several second years asking if he could stay, and a first year who'd joined them minutes ago asking him to play Gobstones with her.

"But I'd lose, I told you I'm not very good," Harry said.

She grinned. "Exactly!"

Well. Awkward. Not the first year, but how could he hang out in the Slytherin common room? Being in public was one thing, but in their common room there was no way he could say it was just to change the public opinion. He looked at the seventh years that had joined them, but they were smiling.

"You're welcome to stay for a bit," Nott told him.

He wasn't sure he really wanted to be alone with them on their territory, but there had been no non-Slytherin around for several minutes and he was still safe. Well, the whole reason he was doing this was to prove that they could be trusted, right? "Okay," he said. "Just for one game of Gobstones, then I have to go."

They cheered, and made a big fuss over making him covering his ears while they whispered the password to the wall. The younger children especially seemed to find it hilarious that if they asked him not to eavesdrop on their password, he would respect that and not. He supposed not many commanded the Boy-Who-Lived.

As a twelve-year-old the Slytherin common room had seemed oppressing and dim. Now, he found himself appreciating the calm underwater light, and noticed the armchairs more than the iron grating of the fireplace.

His one game of Gobstones turned into two as every first year wanted to play him. He wasn't being attacked, and he found that he genuinely enjoyed their company. Eventually, though, there was no denying the time, and he had to go.

* * *

Harry was in cheerful spirits as he entered Gryffindor Tower. Ron and Hermione were waiting for him.

"Hey guys," he said, then immediately remembered their earlier disapproval of Slytherin. "Look, I'm sorry about-"

"Where have you been?" Hermione demanded. "You barely got in before curfew, and you look as though you've been running the whole way!"

"Yeah, I sort of lost track of time…" Harry scratched his head.

"Doing what, exactly?" Ron asked.

Harry took a deep breath. These were his friends, he reminded himself, and he had just proven that Slytherins weren't all a bunch of back-stabbing Death Eaters by being alone with them for a long period of time.

"I was in the Slytherin common room, and-"

"WHAT?"

The exclamation came from Parvati Patil. Looking around, Harry realized that everyone in the common room had heard his admission that he'd been in the Slytherin common room.

"Look, it's not-"

"I'll tell you what it's not," Ron said furiously. "It's not you being a Gryffindor. We don't hang out with Slytherins, and then abandon our friends all day to go suck up to them! Well, I hope you guys live happily ever after because you're lucky enough that we're not going to curse you in your sleep!" He stormed off upstairs.

Harry swallowed. That didn't sound too lucky, or anything he should be grateful for, but Seamus was eyeing him in disgust. "Aye, those Slytherins won't be as kind as us. I hope you change your mind soon, Harry." He too left.

Everyone remaining in the common room also left. He stared at Hermione, silently beseeching her, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. Alone, Harry wondered where he'd gone wrong.

 **Chapter word count: 2124**

 **Total word count: 15504**

 **Could you guys send me some Slytherin names? They don't have to be ones mentioned in canon, but feel free to send me those, or throw in some Pureblood surnames. Usually I would do my own research and scour the books for every kid ever sorted into Slytherin, but I don't have the time and it's more fun if you send me names in a... REVIEW!**


	10. To Guard You and to Guide You

**I... have three chapters to make up now. I should do that sometime. When I have time. Which is not now. Thanks for reviewing, nikkiRiddle and Lady Eleanor Boleyn!**

Harry had hoped things would look better in the morning. They didn't. His dorm mates ignored him, and though they didn't stop him from walking with them or sitting with them, Harry could feel the coldness from the other Gryffindors.

Breakfast was unbearably awkward. Harry made no attempt to join in the stilted conversation surrounding him, and they made no effort to include him in it. His eyes wandered over to the Slytherin table. Despite their stereotype of being cold to everyone including their own house, they chatted easily. The upper years were slightly more reserved, but were smiling. Looking back at his own house, Harry felt the difference acutely.

The Gryffindors still refused to look at Harry as they got up to leave, but he felt their attention piercing him like spears as he diverged from the path to the door to talk to the Slytherins.

Most of them looked curiously at him as he approached, but the seventh years made room for him without asking. Harry hadn't been sure if he was going to sit down or not, but now that they'd moved it seemed rude not to. He wasn't even exactly sure what he came to their table for, except that it seemed better than his own.

"So what's the schedule for today?" he asked. It seemed logical, since his escort duties were his main reason of association with the Slytherins.

"Well, first we should probably tell everyone why you're suddenly always around," Malfoy replied. "Then you can take the third years to Charms, and there's a group of fifth years going to Arithmancy, and-"

"Hang on," Harry said. "You didn't tell them yesterday?"

He shrugged. "Yesterday was a trial run. I didn't want to get their hopes up in case you decided to back out. You aren't, are you?"

"No," Harry said. This made absolutely no sense to him. "So what, they were all just following me around yesterday for no reason?"

"I asked them to," Malfoy said. Harry raised an eyebrow. The Gryffindors would never hang out with a Slytherin on Harry's word alone. Even if he could wrangle them into the same room, he wouldn't be able to keep them civil.

He really didn't understand the Slytherin social structure, but could tell that they shared a trust that the Gryffindors didn't. Harry supposed that they had faced slightly different circumstances that might have bonded them in different ways, but they'd all gone to Hogwarts. How different could they really be?

"So… were you planning on telling them soon?" Harry asked, attempting to keep up.

"Yes," Malfoy said. Without preamble, he raised his voice and every Slytherin immediately sat up and listened. "Some of you may have been taken to your classes by Harry Potter yesterday. This is because we have entered an alliance. This association should boost public opinion about us and ensure a future without discrimination. Thank you for your cooperation."

He hadn't stood up for his little speech, but his looking away appeared to be the signal that he was done talking. Harry had no idea how he had gathered everyone's attention so smoothly. Even with a smaller group at Quidditch practices, he'd often had trouble getting his voice heard.

Malfoy's short announcement somewhat disturbed Harry for reasons he was unsure of. It had only outlined what they'd agreed on- being seen together to get people to stop hating the Slytherins. Yet this cold, political analysis irked Harry. Just yesterday he'd been playing Gobstones with first years. He hadn't done that to gain the Slytherins political benefits.

Looking back on it, Harry frowned internally. Why _had_ he done that? It had nothing to do with their deal. He guessed that he'd just been caught up in the moment, with the chatting and bantering and general good feeling. He hadn't seen the first years as Slytherins, but as people.

Was Harry supposed to step back and only be seen with them in public? He didn't know. He supposed he would find out.

* * *

The trip to Charms was uneventful. Millicent Bulstrode was watching the third years with him, and they continued on to Transfiguration together. The walk was a little awkward, as Harry wasn't sure if they were walking together or just walking in the same direction. Eventually, Bulstrode asked Harry about the Transfiguration homework.

"I barely got it at all," he confessed. "Why would a person's hair color matter to their Animagus form? I thought it was supposed to be about the magic within or whatever, not hair!"

She laughed, and he instantly felt better. She started chattering about old wizard superstitions about hair color, and he listened, but he had a very different thought process going on inside. Harry had thought they had nothing in common, but one small similarity- just one shared class- had turned that around. Everyone that ever walked together must have had some similarity, Harry reflected. He shook himself internally and focused on Bulstrode's recounting of superstitions.

"So do any of those have any truth?" he asked. "I mean, does it actually matter to Transfiguration?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't expect McGonagall to teach lies, but the old sayings have a way of sneaking in everywhere."

This was all she had time to say before they reached the class, but it gave Harry plenty to think about.

* * *

Later that night, he was walking first years (repeat first years, not true first years) to the Slytherin dorms. Again, he was invited in. Harry wanted to, but balked at the memory of Malfoy's declaration that their involvement was only political. "It's not going to help your reputation," he said tentatively.

They scoffed. "Listen," one big-eyed second year told him. "After you left, Draco told us that it wasn't really all about the political benefits. You're important too, and if your house doesn't like it, that's their fault. So you're welcome."

Harry wasn't sure he completely understood that rambling, but he picked out a few key details- most importantly, that despite Malfoy's insistence of the political value of their interactions, he had told the other Slytherins that that wasn't the only important thing.

So he went in.

* * *

The next few days were much more comfortable. The younger students still took every opportunity to pepper him with questions, and he found himself chatting with the seventh years more and more. Nobody really talked about the previous year, but they were able to face the present, which was more than Harry had seen out of anyone else, except maybe Luna. One day, he was alone with the six Slytherin seventh years as their schedules coincided for once. They were on their way to potions, and Zabini was describing some of the potion books in his family's library.

"They had their own version of the Restricted Section," he was explaining, "But now I'll be able to find that one recipe with-"

"How do you feel about them being gone?" Harry asked, and immediately wished he hadn't. He hadn't thought that through at all. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Zabini was already talking as if his question was in no way offensive.

"It's weird not having them, of course, but they were pretty stuck in the old ways. And they tried to drag me into the same rut. So I never did anything original, but now I have that chance." He narrowed his eyes at Harry. "So stop feeling like you've ruined my life- our lives. You saved them."

Harry looked around at the other Slytherins. They were all nodding.

"Technically, we could have broken away from their ideas any time, but we would have been totally shunned," Parkinson added as an after note. "It just wasn't worth the risk."

They got quiet. The Slytherins seemed comfortable, but Harry was thinking. He seemed to be doing a lot of that recently. He had broken away from the Gryffindor's ideals, and had been shunned. Maybe he should have paid closer attention to how they reacted to people who rebelled against the norm, but looking at his companions, Harry thought that he'd rather take the consequences.

 **Chapter word count: 1350**

 **Total word count: 16854**

 **I really need to work on the rest of my outline. I'm getting close to the point where I don't have each chapter named and I don't have events specifically assigned to them. Only a few more days before I'm forced to confront that.**


	11. Of All Your Fever Dreams

**Guess who had an excuse for not posting for a few days... and then ran out of excuses. It's me. I'm the failure. But I'm still in this, and hopefully it's not too late! Thanks for your reviews, nikkiRiddle and not a muggle - just a witch! We're doing this, everybody. WHERE MAKING THIS HAPPEN.**

Harry managed to end up in the Slytherin common room again that night. He hadn't been challenged to a Gobstones tournament. He hadn't been deep in discussion or anything. But when Harry and the group he was chaperoning ended up in front of the dorms and he'd turned to leave, nearly every Slytherin under fourteen was shocked and insisted that he come in. Once more, Harry looked to the seventh years, and only at their nodded approval did he agree to stay a while longer.

It was strange, being in the Slytherin common room with no particular purpose, Harry reflected. He had no option but to relax. So he did.

He didn't really want to return to Gryffindor tower, but he knew he had to follow the rules. Harry frowned. Was that actually a rule? Come to think of it, was there a rule against visiting another House's common room? He shook his head. No adult had told him off, so as long as he didn't push it by staying the night or advertising it too much, Harry would probably be okay.

So he returned to Gryffindor, resigned to another night of disgusted looks in between periods of pretending Harry didn't exist. He would really rather stay with the Slytherins- at least they had some sense of unconditional trust.

As Harry clambered through the portrait, he heard some fifth year remark, "It's curfew and Potter isn't back- I suppose he's slithering in the dungeons where he belongs."

Harry hadn't quite entered the common room yet and hesitated. He was tempted to jump out and yell, but the whole point of his deal with Malfoy was to stop yelling at people and get them to agree with him. But Harry really didn't want to peacefully walk into the common room, especially with the atmosphere that comment had just created. But his musings were futile. Someone else was doing the yelling for him.

"It isn't curfew yet and you know it, besides, Harry has a right to go wherever he wants to, I don't exactly recall you being in charge of him. Actually, I seem to remember you trying to memorize his schedule at the beginning of the year. You kept going on about how amazing he was, and how we were so lucky to have him and get to go to school at the same time as him. What happened to that, huh? You think that him choosing to hang out with a few more people than he usually does makes it okay for you to completely turn around and insult him? And another thing, you…"

It was Ron. Ron was sticking up for Harry. He couldn't quite believe his ears. All attention was riveted on the scene going down in the middle of the common room, and no one noticed Harry as he slipped in quietly. He stood by the entrance, unwilling to move or talk or in any way end the beautiful verbal smack down taking place on his account.

"…Harry is ten times more a Gryffindor than you are right now, even if he is hanging out with Slytherins, and he, unlike you, managed to kill Voldemort. Who do you think you are?"

Harry could see Malfoy's point. Ron hadn't prepared his spiel, and it was disjointed and rambling, but he was red in the face and was nowhere near running out of material. His passion sold it, not his speech-making skills. Harry couldn't stop a grin from breaking out on his face, but he wished that Ron hadn't brought up Voldemort. If this turned into a recitation of Harry's various skills and virtues…

"…When Harry was your age he was trying to convince the world that Voldemort was back and he wasn't a liar. Now he's trying to say that Slytherins aren't evil and you call him a liar. This is literally the exact opposite of what you're supposed to do, in the time it probably took you to think up that clever little remark Harry could have killed another Dark Lord, not that you would know…"

Ron had finally looked up and seen Harry. He was red in the face from shouting so much. Harry was a bit red in the face, too. He hadn't exactly been killing Dark Lords in his time away from Gryffindor Tower, and he didn't want to be hero-worshipped anyway. The student who had made the comment was the reddest. All in all, with the Gryffindor colors draped everywhere and no student without a blush, there was an abundance of red.

Ron looked away from Harry abruptly. "Finish your Charms homework, Jimmy," he said rather absently to the offender.

The boy flushed even further, but dutifully turned back to his homework. Suddenly Hermione was there, and she was smiling tentatively. Ron seemed to have ran out of words, and Harry had no idea what he was supposed to say. The last time they'd talked, Ron had been mad at him, but he had just shouted at some kid on Harry's behalf, so… so Harry didn't know.

People were still staring at them. Hermione quietly worked on shooing them away as she led Harry and Ron over to an unused couch away from everyone else. They sat awkwardly until Ron said, "So… Bill sent a letter."

"That's nice," Harry said. He hoped Ron would get to the point, and he hoped it had to do with their argument. He was sick of dancing around issues.

Ron glanced at him, unsure. Hermione was rolling her eyes and seemed to be on the edge of muttering under her breath. "Harry, he told Ron about the curse Malfoy's trying to break, so now we-"

"Wait, what curse?" Harry asked.

"Malfoy didn't mention it?" Hermione said. When Harry shook his head, she continued, "Oh… I guess we assumed that was the reason why you were with him… but never mind that," she added hastily, right as Harry started thinking that it was just typical to be accidentally forgiven and have an apology taken back before it was even given.

Hermione was quiet, so Harry looked at Ron. He shrugged. "Well, you know when we saw Malfoy talking to Bill after the trial? It turns out he was trying to get him to help break some curse on the Sorting Hat."

"How could the Sorting Hat be cursed?" Harry said. "It's always worked before, and Voldemort didn't manage to burn it, much less curse it…"

Ron was shaking his head. "Apparently Malfoy is claiming that some Purebloods- decades ago- cursed it so that all the major Pureblood families would be automatically sorted into Slytherin, and no Muggleborn would ever get in."

Harry had no idea what to say to that, but he supposed it made sense. It would definitely explain why all Slytherins were Purebloods who believed blood purity determined worth… no. That was what Harry had thought about them, but his recent interactions with the Slytherins had shown none of the snobbery Harry had expected. There was no way all Slytherins were evil wizards that believed no Muggleborn even deserved a wizarding education.

Harry thought of the way it had seemed in first year, when the Hat hadn't even seemed to touch Malfoy's head before proclaiming its decision. He thought of what the Slytherins had told him about their parents, how controlling they were. They had wanted the freedom to make their own choices, instead of repeating those of their parents. Now that they had the chance, it made perfect sense for Malfoy to want to get rid of the remaining limitations.

"That makes sense," Harry said evenly. He supposed this could be leading up to why Ron and Hermione had decided that it was okay for Harry to hang out with Slytherins, but he still hadn't heard an apology.

"Yeah," Ron said. "Bill believes Malfoy, so he asked me if Malfoy's actions back up his words, and he also wants me to not fight him, since Bill's job is kind of in jeopardy, what with him being bitten and all, so he can't afford to lose this… anyway. The Slytherins can't be all bad, so… we're sorry. _I'm_ sorry. They're just people, after all."

Harry smiled. "Yeah. They are." He noticed Hermione wiping at the corners of her eyes. "What?"

"Boys," she muttered, but sniffed and then sat up straight. "So next weekend there's a Hogsmeade visit, and Bill and Malfoy were planning on going over some drafting, so Bill invited us to come along."

"Drafting for what?" Harry asked.

As usual, Hermione answered immediately. "They have to get permission from McGonagall to even get a look at the Hat. You'd think that to _break_ a curse, it would be fine, but _no_ , the Ministry security has to show how ineffective it is by making us go through a series of checks…"

"Which is why we're writing to McGonagall, not the Ministry security," Ron said.

"Of course," Hermione answered.

They chatted a little longer, mostly about the security's ridiculous attempts of ensuring safety, and how at least they were being allowed to go to Hogsmeade, and every small thing that didn't matter. That night, Harry went to bed feeling as though a burden he didn't know he'd had had been lifted.

 **Chapter word count: 1546**

 **Total word count: 18400**

 **Encouragement would be appreciated. I'm still aiming for 30 chapters by November the 30th.**


	12. We Are the Poisoned Youth

**I am so behind schedule. Thanks for reviewing, nikkiRiddle, terry nightstalker, and jules! I'll try to keep that in mind, but I really want to prove to myself that I can do this. Hope y'all enjoy!**

Harry went through the rest of week not really thinking about the Hogsmeade visit coming up. In his mind, there was nothing to worry about- they would hang out with Bill as he drafted a formal request to examine the Sorting Hat with Malfoy, and that would be that. Harry didn't foresee any problems, until Thursday night when Ginny asked him, "So is Malfoy actually okay with us coming along?"

"I… haven't exactly mentioned it to him," Harry confessed. He suddenly wondered if Malfoy would actually mind the company of three additional Gryffindors. Four additional Gryffindors, actually, since Harry had never asked if he could come.

Ginny was staring at him, aghast. Hermione, reading on the couch opposite them, looked up and noticed. "What?" she asked.

"Harry hasn't informed Malfoy that we'll be there when he's working with Bill," Ginny said faintly.

Hermione gasped, and Ron looked at Harry in horror. Harry looked helplessly back and shrugged. "I… guess I'll tell him tomorrow?" he suggested weakly.

"You'd better," Hermione said grimly.

They resumed studying, but the mood was subdued.

* * *

Harry ate breakfast with the Gryffindors as usual, then walked over to the Slytherin table. He was puzzled when no one moved to make room for him, then realized that they had left a spot open. He sat down in it.

"Good, you're here," Malfoy said distractedly, almost as though Harry were late. "The fourth years are trying to skip Potions as protest against Slughorn's teaching skills, so if anyone tries to tell you that you don't have to take them to Potions, don't listen to them. Now, I realize that Charms is pretty far from the dungeons, but do you think you can make the trip? Usually I wouldn't bother having anyone with the sixth years, but two got jinxed yesterday so-"

"Wait, they were attacked? By whom?" Harry managed to interject.

Malfoy grimaced. "Gryffindors. Then when you get out of Transfiguration, can you-"

"Take the second years to lunch? Yes," Harry said. His previous interruption had been reflexive, not planned, but it had reminded him that he was able to stop Malfoy talking and say what he needed to. "I know today's schedule. I actually wanted to ask about this weekend."

Malfoy blinked. "What about it?"

"Well, there's a Hogsmeade visit," Harry began, unsure of how to ask if the Gryffindors could sit with Malfoy and Bill as they worked on a draft Malfoy hadn't bothered to mention to Harry. "I assume everyone will be going?" Yes. That worked. That was something he would be asking about anyway, what with his bodyguard duties and all.

"Yes, but all the lower years will be in Honeydukes, Zonko's, or the Three Broomsticks, so it won't take very many people to watch over them. You can do what you want," Malfoy said dismissively.

Harry took a deep breath. "Actually, Ron and Ginny heard that Bill would be working on some stuff with you, and they wanted to see him while he was in town." There. He'd said it. Malfoy was staring at him incredulously, but it was too late to take anything back.

Malfoy was silent for a minute. "What do you know about that?" he finally asked.

"You say that like it's supposed to be a secret," Harry said without really thinking. "Wait, is it? Should we really be discussing this here?"

"Calm down Potter," Malfoy sneered. Wow, Harry hadn't heard him sneer since sixth year. He supposed Malfoy's previous politeness couldn't last forever. "It's no secret, I just didn't know that anyone else knew anything about it. So for the sake of not having to repeat myself too many times, what exactly do you know about that?"

Harry shrugged. "Just that there's some curse on the Sorting Hat affecting who can get into Slytherin, and that you got Bill to help break it."

"Okay," Malfoy said, almost to himself. "Okay. So you expect me to tolerate the presence of two additional Weasleys?"

"Hermione and I will be there too," Harry muttered weakly.

"You do realize this is a formal drafting, not a social convention?" Malfoy demanded. "I was lucky that he was even available to come to Hogsmeade for a few hours, and I can't afford to have that time wasted with his siblings trying to talk to him. And I don't suppose they'd just sit calmly at the same table as me. So no, I don't think-"

For the third time that morning, Harry interrupted him. "You yourself just said that it was hard to get Bill to come. Well, that's sort of why Ron and Ginny want to see him so much. And they know that you're the reason he's out here in the first place, so they have to be nice to you if they want to see him. Believe me, no one's trying to stop you. They just want to spend time with him, no matter what he's doing."

"Your speeches suck," Malfoy murmured. "But fine. They can come. But they'd better not get in the way!"

* * *

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny managed to get along with Malfoy on the walk to Hogsmeade, mostly by not talking to him. Harry thought about being an icebreaker and starting a discussion, but decided against it. It would just be too awkward.

Upon reaching the Three Broomsticks, Ron and Ginny kept their hellos to Bill brief, and the Gryffindors sat down quietly as Bill and Malfoy began working. Harry nearly immediately tuned out, but found himself listening later as Bill and Malfoy argued over how to state their reason for writing the letter.

"You keep talking about how it's important to get official permission, instead of just stealing the Hat, because Slytherins are being judged for every slightly out-of-line thing they do," Bill argued. "Why shouldn't we put that in there?"

"Because then they'll be sure it's all a trick, since we mentioned stealing it," Malfoy argued back. "No one can afford for them to distrust our motives. This letter has to be completely transparent, and that means leaving out a few details."

Harry snorted inwardly, but found himself frowning. He himself had wondered why Malfoy was doing things the hard way- legally- instead of just taking the Hat. But he supposed Malfoy was right- no matter how noble his intentions may have been, nobody would trust a Slytherin. Harry squirmed to think of all the times he, Ron, and Hermione had gotten away with escapades like going after the Sorcerer's Stone. They'd been awarded points for that. If Malfoy had done it, Harry had to admit that most people, himself included, would have looked at him suspiciously and wondered if he'd somehow taken the Stone, or what his angle was.

Thinking about that double standard, Harry found his thoughts wandering toward how he would have done in Slytherin. He might have been more cautious, and less trusting. His life would definitely have turned out very differently. He supposed that in the end, he was happy with Gryffindor, but what about those who would have done best in Slytherin? How many Muggleborns had been offered a choice among only three houses, instead of four?

The curse was probably one of the reasons Slytherin was perceived as a rude, aristocratic House that believed in blood supremacy. Besides the views of the students, the fact that there were no Muggleborns and few half-bloods in the House made Slytherin appear biased. Yet everyone had transferred the blame onto Salazar Slytherin, or the current Slytherins, not the Sorting Hat.

Of course, some of the Slytherins definitely believed in blood supremacy. Voldemort was a prominent example, as well as whoever had cursed the Sorting Hat. Harry had believed that Draco, too, was prejudiced, but he hadn't called Hermione a Mudblood in recent times. Actually, the last time he remembered him using the word was on the Astronomy Tower, right before Dumbledore was killed.

Harry fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. He hadn't wanted to remember that. Harry tried to remind himself that he had spoken at the trial, and none of that was Draco's fault. Still, Draco hadn't used any offensive terms nor displayed any signs of prejudice recently. It was probably just because he couldn't afford to mess up, Harry suddenly thought sourly. After all, Malfoy had just admitted that he, and all Slytherins, had to appear perfect.

Harry supposed that Malfoy could have been influenced by his father, and his prejudice wasn't purely his own fault. The Slytherins had mentioned that their parents had controlled every aspect of their life. If Malfoy had had his opinions on blood forced on him, then Harry could forgive that. It didn't mean he would accept that sort of prejudice continuing, though. Draco was finally out of his father's sphere of influence. Perhaps now he would reconsider his beliefs. Harry smiled to himself. He would just have to make sure Hermione kept coming to Draco's meetings with Bill, and after spending so much time around her, Draco would have to reconsider his beliefs.

He pulled himself out of his musing to listen once more to the discussion. To his surprise, it appeared as though Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had been listening actively. Harry sheepishly attempted to focus. He couldn't be the one who had no idea what was going on.

Draco was frowning. "You really think we need to send a letter informing them of the situation before asking to work on the Hat?"

"Yes," Bill said. "It's all in the official protocol. Normally I'd skip the informing letter, but we're already on shaky ground. You're doing this legally because you're a Slytherin, and I have to follow all the protocol because they think I should be considered a werewolf."

"But you're not," Ron said quietly.

Bill shrugged. "Nobody's looking at technicalities."

They were quiet for a minute before Bill stood up, telling them that he had to leave for Egypt, and then Ron and Ginny were trying to say goodbye, and Draco was asking when he'd be available to finish drafting the letter. Suddenly Bill was gone, and there was nothing to do but leave the restaurant. Together. Awkwardly.

 **Chapter word count: 1695**

 **Total word count: 20095**

 **It feels so good to write again! I have no schedule, but I'm still aiming for 50,000 words by the end of November. Wish me luck!**


	13. If You Must Speak

**Hey, guys... It's, um, been a while...**

 **So yeah, NaNoWriMo didn't exactly work out as planned. I don't really have a good excuse, I just didn't have the discipline or preparation necessary to complete this quickly, and then it just became too hard to face. But I'm going to finish this before November, because it would make me feel better and I don't like leaving things unfinished for over a year. Anyway. I hope you enjoy.**

 **I still own nothing. After all this time, you ask? ...Always.**

Being outside the Three Broomsticks did not make the situation any less awkward. Everyone seemed very aware the Draco was the only Slytherin in the group. Normally, someone would ask the obligatory question, "Where do you want to go?" But since Malfoy was with them, it would seem as though they were inviting him to go with them. So instead, they lingered just outside the doorway.

"So… if I heard right, you're meeting with Bill again in two weeks?" Ginny asked Malfoy tentatively.

He nodded curtly, but seemed to find the situation just as awkward as the Gryffindors.

Ron, guessing at what his sister was getting at, said, "Do you mind if we hang out with him again then?"

"That's fine," Malfoy mumbled. "Well, I'll just go, then…" He trailed off, muttering something about meeting his friends at Honeydukes.

"We'll walk with you," Harry offered brightly.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny looked aghast but said nothing. Malfoy appeared to contemplate Harry's motives. Eventually, he nodded and started walking. Harry supposed he had come to the conclusion that Harry had some scheme, and he should support it since it seemed very Slytherin.

Harry happened to have multiple schemes. Malfoy being seen in public with several Gryffindors would probably turn some heads. Also, it would be a few more minutes he would be spending around Hermione. Harry briefly considered whether it was fair to force them to spend time together- it was almost as though he was trying to force them into a relationship. He dismissed the idea, as Hermione had Ron, but then realized that Harry hadn't seen any evidence that the two of them were dating. Maybe they had come to a compromise similar to the one Harry and Ginny had made. Well, maybe if Harry could get Hermione to spend more time with Draco, Ron would become jealous and ask her out! Harry was very proud of himself for how beneficial to everyone his grand plan was.

He realized that they had all been walking together in silence for the past few minutes. He glanced at Hermione. For his plan to work, Malfoy had to realize that Hermione was a great person not defined by her blood. Also, Hermione was the only one who hadn't spoken since leaving the Three Broomsticks. She didn't see Harry's look, but did seem to feel obligated to speak as she started chatting with Ginny.

"So have you guys started going over the revitalization charm?" she asked.

"Yeah, technically we should have learned it last year, but bringing flowers back to life wasn't really high on the curriculum," Ginny replied.

The small talk did not lessen the awkwardness at all. Nobody seemed comfortable bringing up the events of the previous year. The casualness of the discussion seemed forced, probably because it was. Nevertheless, Hermione persisted.

"I always found it strange that the charm could work at all, since magic can't actually bring anything back to life."

"Mm," Ginny said noncommittally, before she too dedicated herself to lessening the awkwardness through conversation. "I suppose it doesn't really bring the flowers back to life. After being cast a few times, the charm loses its effectiveness."

Nobody else was talking, but since the conversation was about a flower, none of the guys could really be expected to.

"That makes sense," Hermione said slowly. "Maybe the charm really only makes it look like it's alive?"

Ginny shrugged. "I guess. I'm honestly not sure why we have to learn it at all, since it doesn't work very well long term, and it's not like the theory is important to know for any other spells."

"That is strange," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Especially since it only works with plants that are still in the soil…"

Ginny shrugged again. "Why the sudden interest in flowers, Hermione?"

Hermione copied her shrug. "It's not the flowers, it's the… oh, I don't know, I just feel like there should be a use for the charm, outside of needing to know it for an exam… why would we bother learning it if there wasn't? Maybe we could graft flowers onto a headband, or something?"

The awkward silence on Harry's left seemed to get quieter. Harry glanced over; Malfoy was still walking beside him, head down, but if Harry didn't know better, he'd say Malfoy was listening.

Well. He probably was, since the conversation was the only thing to hear, but he had an air of attentiveness Harry hadn't noticed previously.

"That sounds great, but why haven't we ever seen anyone do it?" Ginny asked, her interest now genuine.

"Do what?" Neville huffed as he appeared beside them, carrying a small shrub in an absurdly large clay pot. "Hi, Ginny… guys…" He didn't appear to know how to address Malfoy.

"Oh, you might know," Hermione mused. "We were thinking of using the revitalization charm to graft flowers onto headbands… or anything really," she added hastily, realizing that no male had shown an inclination to join in discussing flowery headbands.

Neville nodded thoughtfully, unperturbed by the feminine connotations of the topic. "That sounds like it could work, and I think that actually used to be a tradition, so you should really be asking Malfoy?" He glanced at Malfoy, who looked up to meet his eyes, took a deep breath, and inclined his head shortly.

"It was… fashionable. For a while," Malfoy said somewhat stiffly. "I know Pansy was working on it a few years ago-"

"Working on what?" Pansy Parkinson asked brightly as she and Theodore Nott emerged suddenly from the crowd surrounding them.

"The adaptation of the revitalization charm," Malfoy said, graciously shifting the burden of the conversation to her with expectant eyes.

Pansy Parkinson took up the thread of conversation with as much grace as Malfoy had exercised giving it to her. She spoke rapidly, and commanded focus, and although it was hard to look away, Harry snuck a peek at Malfoy, and could have sworn he was sighing in relief. When Malfoy started to turn his head toward Pansy, who was on Harry's other side, Harry averted his gaze quickly.

Hermione darted in questions between Pansy's confident speech, which Pansy answered with apparent delight. Ginny was not quite as quick-spoken as the two of them, as she had never formally learned the subject or researched it thoroughly, but she listened intently and occasionally posed suggestions of her own.

Harry tuned out of all of this fairly quickly, and was mostly sure Ron, Malfoy, and Theodore Nott had too. Nott had fallen into step beside Malfoy, and they may or may not have been conversing quietly. Ron was taking advantage of his height to watch the various people moving by quickly.

"Looking for someone?" Harry asked.

Ron started, then grinned sheepishly as he realized there was no point putting on a pretense that he was listening to the girls' conversation. "No one in particular. It's just that- well, there was a lady with snakes in her hair, and-"

"Like, growing out of her head?" Harry couldn't help but smile, wondering if that particular Greek myth was actual wizarding fact.

It seemed it was not, given the bemused look Ron was currently sporting. "Of course not. They were _in her hair_. So I've been looking around, and there was this one guy with a huge mustache that kept sparking, and someone who was either covered in dirt or thought it was a good fashion statement, and-"

Harry half-listened to Ron as he did some looking around himself. He couldn't see much more than people's hair as they passed by quickly, which explained why most of Ron's sightings had boasted extraordinary facial features. Harry could see hairs of every color of the rainbow, which surprised him, somehow. He'd been so used to looking out for the distinctive bright Weasley hair that he'd missed all the other shades.

"Harry, look!"

Harry looked, expecting something remarkable and bright, but nothing in particular caught his eye- _everything_ was bright and remarkable.

"What?"

"I think that's Dad's friend over there- you know, the one who let us Floo through his house so we could walk to the Ministry? Hey! Mr. Mitxel!"

Harry thought he caught someone with nondescript brown hair turning their face towards them, but as the man looked away and hurried off, decided he must have been mistaken.

"I might have pronounced his name wrong," Ron admitted ruefully.

"I don't know anyone who lives within walking distance of the Ministry," Nott said quietly. It wasn't to Harry, but he pondered that anyway. He would have thought that plenty of people would want the accessibility of being able to walk to the Ministry… then again, the people Nott knew probably weren't used to walking too far to places.

Harry turned back to Hermione, hoping she might be done with her questioning. Sure, he wanted the Slytherins to notice that blood had no effect on ability or knowledge, but Harry was positive his brain would melt if he listened to Hermione for another minute.

Hermione was still talking to Pansy, but the pace seemed to have slowed. "How do you know all this, anyway?" she asked. "I don't remember ever seeing anything about this in the library."

Pansy half-smiled. "You wouldn't have. This stuff is old- I actually found it in Draco's family's library." She paused, though it may have simply been her ducking under a shiny blue sleeve flung out suddenly. "Ooh, Draco, you should open up Malfoy Manor for a library party!"

Pansy beamed expectantly, but Hermione didn't share her enthusiasm anymore. She scowled at the ground, and Harry, Ron, and Neville scowled with her. Malfoy Manor wasn't exactly full of good memories for them. Malfoy and Nott were frowning slightly- that is, their faces were carefully blank.

Noting the lack of eager agreement, Pansy muttered, "Well, it's not like your dad could say no…"

"Getting permission isn't the problem," Malfoy said, deliberately neutral. "It just might not be as nice as you make it sound, given… past circumstances." That sounded very thoughtful… but Harry had to doubt that consideration of sensitive memories was his only motive in declining to invite a bunch of Gryffindors he wasn't on very good terms on to his home.

The group slowed to a stop. They'd reached the end of town while talking. "Were you guys going somewhere?" Nott said. It was casual, polite, and identified the Gryffindors as a separate entity.

"Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop," Ron said hastily, eyeing the logo the bundle Nott was carrying. Neville looked as though he had something else to say, but held his tongue, shifting anxiously.

"And we were supposed to be in Honeydukes five minutes ago," Parkinson said. "And since that's on the other side of town-" she lifted an eyebrow at the Gryffindors in a horribly familiar way as if to blame them for wasting her time, even though she'd been the one doing most of the talking, "-we need to hurry. Excuse us." It sounded more like a command than a request.

Parkinson and Nott left abruptly, but Malfoy lingered. _Probably to make sure I don't try to back out of the deal_ , Harry thought. He opened his mouth to Malfoy that he had no intention of doing any such thing when he noticed his friends turning away to cross the small street. Neville looked back at him, and Harry made a decision.

"Go ahead. I don't need any new quills."

Neither did any of the Gryffindors, Harry was fairly sure, but they left without protest. Suddenly, Harry and Malfoy were alone.

"I'll walk with you to Honeydukes," Harry offered. "That's where most of the third years should be, right?"

Some previously concealed tension left Malfoy's neck. He didn't smile, but he managed to meet Harry's eyes as he nodded.

 **Chapter word count: 1964**

 **Total word count: 22059**

 **Word count as of the end of November 2015: 20728**

 **I made 41.456% of my goal last year. I want to try again this year but I don't have any good long ideas put together ready to write. I would appreciate encouragement and inspiration. Thanks for reading, guys.**


	14. Do You Walk in the Shadow of Men

**Hi! This happening. I am totally doing this for real. (I'm sort of excited, if you can't tell.)**

 **This universe I splash around in still isn't mine.**

Harry had no idea what to say to Malfoy. Why had he decided to walk with him again? Ah, yes, he'd wanted to make sure Malfoy knew Harry wasn't going to abandon the Slytherins just because there'd been some bad memories brought up. Well, he'd done that, and now he was stuck with Malfoy with nothing to talk about.

Harry cast his mind about wildly, desperately hoping something would come up. He didn't want to talk about being held prisoner in a basement, or how many parents of students were in Azkaban, or the lingering hostility between their respective friend groups.

"So… why was Bill doing the permission-asking thing?" Oh yes. That was smooth. Well done, Harry.

Malfoy evidently agreed, and wasn't afraid to show it with a haughtily arched eyebrow that was somehow very different from Parkinson's earlier disdain. "I believe we already discussed why asking permission was necessary, unless you really were as inattentive as you looked, Potter?"

"Yeah, but… I thought Bill was a curse breaker. Legal documents don't really fall under that, do they?"

"They do."

Harry looked at Malfoy, incredulous. "Oh, come on. Isn't the whole point of being a curse breaker that you get to go have adventures and not have paperwork?"

Malfoy looked at him blankly, then sighed, seeming to resign himself to explaining. "Curse breakers are required to fill out all legal forms associated with their business, know all the local languages and dialects in the region where they specialize, be able to perform surgery on themselves, and negotiate trade deals. Oh, and they break curses sometimes, too."

"…Why would anyone ever decide to do that."

"Ask Weasley," Malfoy smirked.

"Which one?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and muttered something but didn't seem inclined to continue the banter. At least, Harry hoped it was just banter.

"Hey, Malfoy?"

"What."

"Are there other schools to go to after Hogwarts?"

Harry received a strange look with his answer. "Yes, but they're really just for people who didn't understand what was being taught. They don't teach anything new." Malfoy paused. "You really have no idea what happens after graduation?"

"None at all," Harry answered honestly. He realized that his goal had always been killing Voldemort, and he'd never really thought of what would come after that. "I was kind of, you know, busy with other stuff… So, what, we're expected to get jobs at the end of the year?"

Malfoy snorted. "I wouldn't say "expected to", since you already, ah, did that "other stuff", and I can afford not to… but yes, students are expected to be ready to go into whatever field of work they chose fifth year."

"Fifth year?" Harry echoed. "But that was just a brief meeting! I don't know anyone who has their career planned out!" Not even Hermione, Harry wanted to say, but bringing her up didn't feel like a good idea at the moment. "Are you seriously not going to get a job, ever?" And that probably wasn't a good idea either, but Harry wasn't exactly known for thinking things through.

"Oh, I will," Malfoy said grimly. "The Ministry's been making comments about how none of the Purebloods have earned their gold. The way things are going, they'll be demanding a monetary compensation for what we did in the war any month now, and if they don't, I won't exactly be helping my public image."

"Huh," Harry managed. This was definitely not a safe topic, but he had a terrible feeling that it was necessary. "What are you going to do, then?"

"No idea."

Harry glanced at him sharply, then looked away. "What were you going to do in fifth year, then?"

"Something in the Ministry," replied Malfoy.

The short answer annoyed Harry, for some reason. Although Malfoy was always ready with an answer, he didn't seem to be putting much effort into maintaining the conversation, making Harry ask all the questions. "And you're not doing that now because…"

"Because the Ministry is sure that all Purebloods are evil and manipulating the system."

Okay, so maybe Harry could excuse some of Malfoy's shortness. He knew he probably shouldn't push the issue, but Harry had never held back from pushing Malfoy past his limits before, and he still felt this was something he needed to know. "Are they?"

"Probably."

Harry refused to respond. It helped that he had no idea what to say to that, but he wanted elaboration.

Malfoy looked a little irritated, which gratified and mollified Harry at the same time. "Families that have a history in the Ministry- like mine- make sure that the heirs get a proper education in politics, and get introduced to the right people. Other families- don't. So since they don't learn anything outside of Hogwarts- or Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or Ilvermorny or-"

"Where?"

Malfoy waved him off. "The point is, the old families have been trained in politics and the rest haven't. They think we know something they don't, which we do, so they don't trust us.

"A lot of positions became empty after the war- and all the trials- and people realized that all of the Death Eaters in the Ministry had been Purebloods from the old families. So. They're pressuring everyone from old families in the Ministry now, even if they had nothing to do with the war. So it would be very difficult for me to get in now, even without…"

He trailed off. Harry tried not to meet his eyes, but Malfoy was looking down anyway. He might not have been looking at his arm, but Harry could see the street and it wasn't that interesting.

"Shouldn't… shouldn't the people in the Ministry be able to tell if they're being tricked?" Harry knew that the discrimination stuff was important, and appreciated that Malfoy was talking to him instead of hexing him, but thought that maybe, for once in his life, he'd be safer stepping back a little.

"There are plenty of people in power who got the job because of connections, not skill… and no one's kicking them out, because their families aren't old enough to have records of ancient magics, so they _can't_ be Dark."

Harry very much wanted to ask if Malfoy's family, and Malfoy himself, were Dark, but deferred to his newfound sense of self-preservation. "You keep mentioning old families. What's the difference between them and Purebloods in general?"

"The old families… well, there's no official definition, but they tend to be families who can trace their heritage back to before Hogwarts was founded. At least. Before Hogwarts, there wasn't any standardized education, so teaching was left up to the family. And since there weren't textbooks, every family's style of magic was a little different. The families that have records of how they used to cast spells, and who use their family's style, are known as the old families, informally."

Harry noted Malfoy's raised eyebrows. Although he hadn't sounded patronizing, Harry was sure that Malfoy was not impressed by Harry's lack of knowledge. "So why have I never heard of this before?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Ask whoever brought you up."

"That would be my aunt."

A pause. "Your… _Muggle_ aunt?"

"I can understand why she wouldn't mention anything, even if she knew it, but why have I never heard anything at Hogwarts?"

"Because the majority of people aren't from old families, so they know nothing about the ancient magics, and assume that since it's Dark, it's not worth learning or even talking about."

"…You never said it was Dark magic."

"Potter, all ancient magics were Dark magic. Dark magic is simply magic fueled by intent rather than precise instructions. The Ministry… has defined Dark magic rather differently, but it has nothing to do with morality."

Harry was quiet for a while, and Malfoy seemed content to let the silence stretch. Light and Dark magic had always been so important to distinguish between, but Harry couldn't remember ever learning a proper definition for the difference. He probably shouldn't be taking Malfoy at his word for all of this, but it was inescapable that Harry's instruction in magic had had some major holes in it.

If Harry's education wasn't complete, he was sure that his wasn't the only. Most Muggleborns would probably be just as clueless as him, if the Pureblood families were doing so much of their education at home, before Hogwarts. And if it was really just the old Pureblood families, that meant that plenty of Purebloods, and probably most Halfbloods, also knew nothing. It just didn't work to let some wizards study magic and the magical world their whole lives, and others for just a few years before they were all expected to get a job.

"It's not fair," Harry said quietly. He hadn't meant to say it, and waited for Malfoy to mock him, but it didn't come.

"No," Malfoy agreed, just as quietly. "But it might be fairer this year."

Harry had to ponder that. He doubted that Malfoy meant everyone would be getting the extra education outside of Hogwarts Harry had been contemplating. But this year, those with the additional training for the Ministry, at least, probably wouldn't be getting the jobs they'd readied themselves for, which would level the playing field for those who hadn't been taught by their families.

It may be fairer for the majority of wizards, but it wouldn't be for all of them.

 **Chapter word count: 1565**

 **Total word count: 23624**

 **I am just so excited I'm finally writing again? It's incredible? Thanks for sharing this awesomeness with me by reading. Also, my writing style may be a bit different... tell me in a review? Tell me anything in a review, and I'll be grateful, really...**


	15. Fall in Love By the End

**Edit: An edit happened. Just fixing names, so sorry if you get an email saying there's a new chapter. There is news though! Watch out for Between Two Hills, the sequel being published (hopefully) in summer 2017!**

 **Hey, people who may or may not be reading this! I'm still here and still dedicated to making this happen. Please don't give up on me, I won't give up on you. Sorry this was delayed... most of the writing was done days ago but technicalities happen. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. (A lot, that is.)**

 **This beautiful world was not penned by my hand. Just these specific incidences.**

Back in the Gryffindor common room, hopefully safe from worldview-altering discussions, Harry sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace. It was still September, but Hogsmeade had been visited by a brisk breeze that drove Harry and his friends to head back for the castle immediately after finding each other.

It seemed most of the Gryffindors had had the same idea. The students who hadn't gone to Hogsmeade affected airs of superiority, even the first and second years who hadn't stayed behind by choice. The rest of the younger years chatted together in groups, played Gobstones or Exploding Snap (chess wasn't safe to play with Ron in the room), or put an effort into getting some homework done.

The seventh and eighth years, however, did not seem quite as thrilled. Harry was sitting with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville, but Seamus Finnegan and Parvati Patil were both sitting alone. It was an uncomfortable reminder that although the war had ended, there were permanent consequences. Lavender Brown had died, and Dean Thomas' Muggle parents hadn't allowed him to return to Hogwarts, after being tortured and held prisoner the previous year.

Harry had to look away from them. He was supposedly writing an essay for Potions, but without Snape as a teacher, it didn't feel quite as urgent, so he allowed his mind to wander. Since McGonagall was too busy to be Head of Gryffindor, their new Head was this year's Defense teacher, Professor Tod. Essen Tod was a strange witch. She always made an effort to sit in the Gryffindor common room with the students as she worked. As she technically worked for the Ministry, she tended to give out very little homework, because she was always busy filling out some form for her superiors.

Professor Tod was an enigma to many of the Gryffindors. She seemed to genuinely want to get to know each of them, but said very little about herself. Her fellow Ministry employees at Hogwarts obviously had great respect for her, though Harry couldn't imagine why. She wasn't an incredible teacher, although her curriculum was reasonable and she hadn't tried to kill any of them yet. Harry appreciated that, but still had no idea what to think of her.

At the beginning of the school year, Professor Tod had occasionally encouraged the bias against Slytherins through small smiles and points. Now, however, she simply did nothing when anything about Slytherin was addressed. She was frowning more, too. Harry hoped that meant she was seeing the error of her ways.

For once, Professor Tod wasn't scribbling in answers on Ministry paperwork. She was looking around the common room with sharp hazel eyes, her gaze seeming to linger on every student as if she were counting them. Apparently finishing her mental tally, she stood up and cast _Sonorus_.

"Hello, everyone, I know this wasn't exactly planned, but since you're all here…" Professor Tod wasn't, among other things, an excellent public speaker. Plenty of students were whispering as they half-glanced at her, and she was wringing her hands. "Well, I know we've all been missing Quidditch-"

There was immediate silence in the room.

"And the- _school_ \- has finally decided that it will be allowed this year."

There was wild cheering. Even Parvati, Seamus, and Dennis Creevey looked upbeat. Harry was burning to know if the eighth years could play, and it seemed Ron had the same idea, but they stayed quiet. For once, Professor Tod had their complete attention.

"Eighth years will not be allowed to play on the House teams-" The room lost the respectful hush that had descended upon Professor Tod's speech. She valiantly tried to be heard- she had cast a charm, but magic could only do so much. "But they can form teams of their own!"

Once more there was cheering, but it died down soon as they all looked to their Head, in case she had something else to say. She blushed.

"That's it. Oh, sign-ups will be on the board!" She cancelled her charm and sat down again, ducking her head shyly.

" _Excellent_ ," Ron was saying, amidst the sudden chatter in the room. "I mean, we don't have enough eighth years in here to make a team, but maybe we can borrow players from the House teams? Yeah, we must, that would work… Shall we go sign up, then?" He got up, and Harry and Ginny were quick to follow, but Hermione was scowling into the flames. Harry knew that she didn't particularly like Professor Tod, but whatever she thought about her teaching style, Harry thought that Hermione should still be respectful of her as a teacher. He didn't say anything, though.

Ron did. "Come on, Hermione, what's your problem with her this time? She's only given us good news!"

"Oh, I know, it's just that we know nothing about her, and the last few Defense teachers that we didn't know enough about…"

Neville was nodding, but remained quiet.

"I see what you mean," Ron said with mock seriousness. "If you count Quirrell as a Death Eater, then the rate of Death Eaters masquerading as professors is over fifty percent. This Ministry worker is definitely suspicious-" He failed to keep his face straight. "Well, she's probably fine, and besides, we have Quidditch now!" He raced off to the sign-up sheet pinned to the notice board. Harry shook his head, and he and Ginny followed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Neville picking up his books and heading towards the stairs to the dormitories. Harry absentmindedly wondered why until he realized that Neville had the wrong subject- Transfiguration, not Potions.

At the board, Ginny left them to join the line for the House team. Harry and Ron signed their names quickly, but as Ron started back toward Hermione and the fire, Harry caught his sleeve.

"What's up?" Ron asked, surprised.

"You and Hermione," Harry said quickly, not wanting to attract attention. "Are you dating or what?"

Ron reddened and looked away. "…No."

"No?"

"I don't think so…"

"Are. Are you kidding me."

"We just never talked about it after the war," Ron mumbled, then straightened. "So? What about you and Ginny then?"

"We're not dating," Harry said easily. "I know because we talked about it." He levelled a pointed look at Ron.

"Oh." Ron looked sheepish. "So, I should…"

"Yeah. You should." Harry deliberately went to sit on a couch away from the fireplace. He watched Ron swallow, square his shoulders, and stumble over to shyly sit down next to Hermione. He looked away.

He didn't have his homework with him, so he found himself looking at the people in the common room again. Quite a few were bunched around the sign-ups, including Ginny. Harry watched her laugh and mime out trying to catch a Snitch. She was surrounded by adorers, many of whom were male, Harry couldn't help but noticing. But as soon as she reached the front of the queue and wrote down her name, she turned around and smiled right at Harry. He watched the light dance in her hair as she walked toward him- not toward Ron and Hermione.

Life was good.

Ginny immediately started chatting about Quidditch, and Harry watched her eyes sparkle as if the wind were pressing against her face. She talked about how soon she'd be learning to do the Potions homework Harry was supposed to be now, and Harry thought that her gentle teasing felt like home. She inclined her head toward Ron and Hermione and smirked without saying anything. Harry didn't want to look away, but managed. Ron and Hermione seemed to have worked things out- Harry just didn't know how yet. He looked back to Ginny.

"You're grinning," she pointed out.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Neville emerged from the staircase with the correct books under one arm. He looked at Ron and Hermione, then at Harry and Ginny. He made a face before deciding Harry and Ginny were more approachable. Ginny smiled at him as he sat down, and Harry fancied that her eyes didn't light up quite the same way they did when she'd looked at him.

"I owled my Gran about the flower thing," Neville mentioned as he flipped his book open to the right page. "She says she'll be happy to see that come back."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.

Neville furrowed his eyebrows. "I mean, she thinks it was a good fashion statement and it'll be nice to see again."

"But… I thought Purebloods hated that sort of thing."

"How could we hate magic?" Harry noted that Neville and Ginny, although both Purebloods, seemed to be identifying very differently. Ginny had referred to Purebloods as a separate group, but Neville had owned his heritage. "It's something that shows off the individual's creativity and power. Gran says she has no idea why so many Purebloods suddenly stopped seeing it as that. Well, actually, she does have an idea…"

"What?" Harry pressed, curious.

"She blames Voldemort."

Ginny seemed perplexed. "But… everyone makes it seem like it was so long ago, that the flower thing was cool, I mean."

Neville raised his eyebrows. "No, that was popular until about the time Voldemort would have been at Hogwarts."

Harry noted Neville's fearless use of Voldemort's name with some pride, although he was mostly focused on Ginny's confusion. "So how did Voldemort get everyone to stop so quickly that everyone thought it had been unfashionable for ages?"

"Beats me," Neville shrugged. "But a lot of the other old traditions fell out around the same time, so she thinks it can't be a coincidence. I mean, I guess it would sort of make sense, if Voldemort was really only a Halfblood…"

"Only?" Harry asked quietly.

"Not like that, I just mean… he wouldn't have been raised the same way his followers were. If he saw something he didn't understand, he might want to just get rid of it instead of having to learn it and letting everyone see that he wasn't just like them."

"You seem to know a lot about this," Ginny observed.

"My Gran's been researching things about it for a long time. It really bothered her when the paperflies started getting sneered at."

"The what?"

"Paperflies. Someone would write a note, and when they folded it up, they would let their magic guide where to make each crease, and somehow they'd get a creature unique to them that could fly off to deliver their message."

Harry was pretty interested in that, but he was also interested in Ron and Hermione getting up from the fireplace to join them. Neville continued to talk to Ginny, telling her that at least some of the most terrible insults had died out, so it wasn't a total loss.

"So?" Harry said as Ron and Hermione sat down next to him. Hermione blushed and handed him the supplies and textbook he'd been using to write his essay in lieu of answering. He looked to Ron.

"We're… not together." Ron was blushing. Harry raised an eyebrow. They looked a bit too giddy and sheepish for that.

"It could be anything, really," Harry vaguely heard Neville say.

"Yet," Hermione amended, still blushing.

"…but it would always have…" Neville continued behind Harry.

"Good enough," Harry told them, watching with amusement as they squirmed a bit, before settling down.

Hermione began to rather loudly comment on the Potions essay, so Harry only indistinctly heard Neville say something about eye contact. Harry couldn't help but feel amused that such a common Muggle practice would have a place in deep-seated Pureblood tradition. He supposed they were all human, even if certain Purebloods might be horrified to acknowledge that.

Comfortable amidst the Gryffindor reds and golds and knowing where everyone in his House stood, Harry relaxed and laughed his way through the evening.

 **Chapter word count: 1970**

 **Total word count: 25594**

 **Reviews make the world go round, so why are we still moving? I haven't heard a thing from any reader since I restarted work on this. If you're going to favorite or follow, tell me why! If you're going to add this fic to a community with a description that doesn't really match what this fic is about, tell me why! If you aren't going to do anything but read, remind me that you exist. I may be writing this for me as much as I do for you, but I can always use a boost. I could also use ideas for what to write about for next NaNoWriMo. Angst aside, I hope you enjoyed!**


	16. Struck by Lightning

**Sup. I am so going to finish this before November. Stick with me? Thank you Shellie2, for leaving a review, unlike literally everyone else.**

 **Somehow this still doesn't belong to me. Also the lyrics I use for chapter titles? And the title? Those aren't my original ideas either. Never have been.**

The next morning, Harry felt as though life was as peaceful and normal as it could get. There was no unresolved tension in the Hall, no furtive whispers or accusing glances. The Ministry officials still sitting at the head table hadn't said much since the beginning of the year, and Harry was starting to believe that they really wouldn't be a problem.

In between bites of toast, Harry glanced up. It was a bit early for the owls to swoop in, but he didn't want to miss it. The space which would soon be filled with fluttering feathers was still, airy, and empty-

There was an owl.

Harry expected it to be followed by a great multitude of its brethren, but this owl was alone. Harry frowned slightly. This was disrupting his perfectly normal morning.

The owl, which may or may not have been a pygmy owl (Harry had never learned to distinguish between types of owls other than snowy and not, despite being surrounded by them for years) descended quickly to the Slytherin table. Harry almost stood up to see who it went to but stopped himself. He had spent his career at Hogwarts going to ridiculous lengths to ensure he always had a good view of Malfoy, and he should probably try to quit the habit.

Harry shifted restlessly in his seat, determined to follow through on his new resolution and not jump up so he could spy on the Slytherins. He nodded at something Ron said, not listening. Then the small owl was in front of his face. Harry jumped.

The owl hooted and landed next to Harry's plate. Harry eyed the letter tied to its leg. The owl offered it politely. Harry took it.

"Is that a pygmy owl?" Ron asked.

"No, it's a saw-whet," Hermione answered. They were leaning in from either side of Harry, obviously keen to see the contents of the letter.

Unfolding it, Harry read,

 _I have a friend who lets me know when to expect to be impacted by the newspaper. He sent me this. Be on guard._

 _DM_

Harry raised his eyebrows at his friends, then flipped over the parchment. The reverse side read,

 _Malfoy,_

 _The_ Daily Prophet _has a big story on you and those Gryffindors you've apparently been hanging around. I don't know how much of it is true but they have pictures._

The note was unsigned. "Talkative, these people, aren't they," Ron murmured.

"Malfoy's informant wasn't really clear on whether the article was complimentary or not," Hermione said anxiously. "I suppose we'll find out soon…"

Sure enough, the owls were swirling through the air _en masse_ , and Harry received a few envelopes before he got his newspaper. The article mentioned wasn't hard to find: it was right on the front cover.

HARRY POTTER CONVERTS DEATH EATERS TO THE LIGHT, the headline blazed.

Harry gently lowered his head to the table.

Hermione took the article and started reading it to herself. Harry tilted his head to peek at her reaction and Ron just waited.

Hermione skimmed through the paper briskly, then turned abruptly pink and set it down.

"What?" Harry said curiously, lifting his head as he regained his interest in living. Without looking at him, Hermione slid him the newspaper.

The first thing Harry noticed was the picture. It wasn't bad quality and didn't seem condemning; it was simply him, his friends, and the Slytherins walking in Hogsmeade. He turned his attention to the article itself.

 _Since the end of the war, Harry Potter has led a largely normal life, thanks to the security the Ministry has provided. Nobody would ask him to do any more, as we are all deeply grateful for his efforts._

Harry had to put the paper down. This was just a bunch of Ministry propaganda… and he'd been asked to do plenty more, although it tended to involve advertising rather than defeating Dark Lords.

Ron, however, had grabbed the paper Harry had discarded. Unlike Harry, he kept reading. Harry looked at him. Ron glanced up.

"You need to read this," he said abruptly, shoving the paper back at him.

Harry skipped to the middle.

 _The lack of apparent evil schemes may not be due solely to Harry's influence, though. Also pictured with the children of Death Eaters is Hermione Granger, an intimate friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. Are her charms causing the sudden turn to the Light?_

 _As perfect as this may sound, it also draws into question the relationship between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Is "Harmony" being broken due to the arrival of Draco Malfoy in Hermione's life?_

Harry put the paper down again. This was too much. He glanced at the author's name, almost surprised to find it wasn't Rita Skeeter. They sat in silence for a while, noting the increased glances and smiles aimed their way. Ginny moodily moved away from her laughing friends to sit with them.

Finally, Harry said, "I can't believe they didn't realize it was Ron saving them from the Dark side."

Ron sputtered, and Hermione and Ginny cracked smiles.

Suddenly they were all laughing. The article wasn't too bad, Harry thought, it just made a few assumptions. If it led people to believe that the Slytherins weren't evil- at least, not anymore- he could put up with the intrusive speculations of his love life, however inaccurate they may be.

Harry realized that he hadn't read the entire article, but surely he'd gotten the gist of it. Just in case there was a buried meaning he'd missed, he'd talk to Malfoy, Harry decided. Breakfast was nearly over anyway, and plenty of students were drifting out of the Hall.

His own friends were among them. "Go ahead," Harry told them, "I need to talk to Malfoy, fight for Hermione's hand, you know…"

They waved cheerfully as they allowed themselves to get swept up in the increasing flow out the doors, and Harry worked his way over to the Slytherin table. Malfoy was just getting up, so Harry fell into step next to him. "Unless I completely missed something, they wasn't completely terrible, right?"

"It did more good than harm," Malfoy said slowly. "The only thing is that it was written late."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. His good mood dimmed a little.

"I should've heard about that article yesterday," Malfoy explained, not even sounding condescending, for once. "Usually everyone at the _Daily Prophet_ sees all the articles, and tells all their family and friends about it. That's how it's possible to get people telling you what they think of you at the same time as you first read the newspaper."

Harry had to think about that. It was true that he and his friends had always gotten positive and negative feedback immediately, which he probably should have realized was physically impossible if the rest of the world read the articles at the same time he did.

"So it was put in at the last minute. Who cares?" Harry had a feeling Malfoy did, but he was in the mood to banter.

"You will," Malfoy shot back, and Harry suppressed a grin. "Usually this sort of article would be put on the front page, no questions asked. It wouldn't have taken long to write, so the only explanation for it being put in so late is that they were arguing over it."

"So?"

"So opinions are divided."

"I got that," Harry said crossly. "But why does that matter?"

"Because the wizarding world is used to being in agreement. More or less. This is… unprecedented."

"Then it's about time."

Malfoy looked at him then, but Harry didn't feel like elaborating. He tried to remember his previous light-heartedness. It felt like a long time ago that he'd told Hermione he would fight for her hand. He felt himself smirking a little.

"I didn't know your secret plan was to date Hermione," he remarked casually.

"Wasn't it obvious every time we walked past each other without looking at each other?"

"I suppose I was apparently too busy trying to win her myself to notice."

"And how's that going?"

"Considering she's writing to that journalist to ask if she gets a choice in who she dates… you still have a chance."

Scoffing at the ground, Malfoy said, "Well, if she has any sense she'll be looking for intelligence and personality… which are departments you are rather lacking in."

Looking Malfoy in the eye, Harry said easily, "What, you think she'd ever date a hard-headed Slytherin who hasn't changed a bit since first year? I think I'm-"

Harry realized that Malfoy was no longer walking next to him. A sudden rush of students blocked his view and jostled him forward a few steps. He realized they were near the staircase leading down to the dungeon, and shrugged mentally. Malfoy must have felt short on time.

Actually, Harry really needed to be going to class too.

So he went.

* * *

At lunch, one of the Ministry people at the Head Table stood up, coughed a bit, and waited for the Hall to quiet down. Nobody paid her much attention. She tried again, with a similar lack of results. Finally, McGonagall, with an air of great disdain, clapped her hands once. There was instant silence.

"Many of you have read or been affected by the article published earlier today. Due to its false insinuations and lack of evidence, we ask that you ignore it and treat no one any differently than you have been doing. To reinforce the request, we are banning the article." The witch smiled serenely and sat down, clearly sure she would be respected.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other.

"If the Ministry hates it that article must have been really good," Ron said.

Hermione had a strange look on her face. "You didn't read all of it?"

"No," Harry and Ron said in unison.

"Well, it praised the Ministry a lot, but it was mostly about moving forward, growing and changing. I suppose the Ministry still needs the Slytherins as scapegoats."

Ron nodded, then said, "In fifth year, after Umbridge banned Harry's interview, you said that would make everyone read it. Is that going to happen again?"

"Oh, definitely," Hermione said. "But that article quoted Harry directly, and this one is only partly correct. It shouldn't change things too much."

* * *

At dinner, Harry waited for another year-altering event, and felt his paranoia was justified when the same Ministry witch stood up again. However, all she did was give a short reminder about the contest to name the war before allowing them to proceed with their evening.

Back at the dorm, Harry smiled to see Professor Tod playing Gobstones very seriously with a first year. He idly wondered who the Head of Slytherin House was this year. He didn't know of any Slytherins on the staff.

Hermione insisted that they work on homework, so they did. Harry reflected that they always seemed to end up in the common room, no matter what they were doing. Most Gryffindors did, which Professor Tod seemed appreciative of. Once again, she was searching through the students as though mentally counting them. Harry was pretty sure everyone was present, and sure enough, Professor Tod stood up and cleared her throat.

"I hope that you all remember the announcement at lunch," she started with her typical nervousness. "But since then the Ministry has rescinded the ban on the article… so please feel free to read whatever you want." She sat down quickly.

Ron shrugged. Hermione began speculating out loud how this would affect the perception of the article. Harry, however, thought about how Malfoy had said the _Daily Prophet_ was divided. Apparently the Ministry was divided too.

He heard the portrait open and frowned. They'd just had a meeting. Weren't all the Gryffindors already in the Tower? It was far too late to go out, it was almost curfew… Harry turned his head.

Standing in the entrance was Dean Thomas.

 **Chapter word count: 1995**

 **Total word count: 27589**

 **I... would still appreciate reviews... that didn't stop being a thing or anything... Hope you enjoyed!**


	17. Ponder the Manner of Things in the Dark

**I need to hurry if I'm going to finish this before November... Glad to hear from you, Shellie2! Reviewers always get a shoutout!**

 **I don't own the Harry Potter franchise.**

The reaction was almost instantaneous. Harry lurched to his feet, and so did half the Gryffindors in the common room. The other half quickly realized something was going on, and then everyone was talking and screaming and crying and pushing to get closer to Dean.

Despite the pressing crowd, Seamus tore through everyone, practically throwing people aside. Dean held his arms out, braced himself, and accepted the flying tackle.

Seamus was pushed aside quickly, as there was an entire common room also waiting to greet Dean, but he seemed okay with that. Harry thought he looked peaceful in a way he hadn't seen much in anyone since before the war.

Eventually, Harry managed to make his way up to Dean and clap him on the back. Harry didn't get the time to say much, so he still had no idea why Dean was back as he was shuffled away.

The uproar evolved into a full-scale party, and Professor Tod did nothing to stop it. Harry noticed her calmly sipping a Butterbeer as they celebrated into the night.

After a few hours, the younger students were yawning, and for once the upperclassmen took some responsibility and ushered them to bed. They even cleaned up their pilfered snacks. Harry wondered who'd gotten the food, and how, and if the upperclassmen had always cleaned up after parties in the past. Whatever the case, Hermione clearly approved of leaving less work for the house elves.

They went to bed, the girls very reluctantly. Harry supposed he would be disappointed too if he wasn't able to get Dean's story before morning. As it was, he assumed Dean would be telling them everything in the dormitory.

It seemed everyone else had made the same assumption. The room was dark and quiet, blue moonlight filtering coldly through the windows. Every boy got ready for bed, but no one lay down. Expectancy hovered over them.

Dean began without prompting. "After the end of the war, my parents- well they were pretty shocked to hear about everything, since they'd thought I was at school. They were actually pretty mad at first, since I hadn't talked to them all year or come home for Christmas or anything- and I hadn't even thought about lying to them, so. I explained, and they panicked.

"I told them that we'd won the war so it was safe now, but they pointed out that the war didn't start because of just a few people, you know? It managed to get so big because so many people were agreeing with Voldemort, even if they weren't killing people- and there are still probably a ton of people who think Voldemort wasn't completely wrong, and if he just hadn't been so violent- but who knows who they are? It was easy to find all the Death Eaters, since they literally had Marks on their arms and they've been really public and extremist about their beliefs.

"The problem wasn't just the war, to my parents. It was that everything was against me- and all Muggleborns- and that kind of prejudice wasn't going to disappear right away. Or ever. So they decided I should just… stay home.

"That didn't work out so well. We started looking into places where I could go to school, but they wanted to know where I'd been going to school and what my grades were and I wasn't exactly about to send them my scores in Potions and Transfiguration. So my parents asked if I wanted to get a job, but there's nothing really open to you without an education. Nothing I wanted to do anyway. So even though the magical world is totally screwed up and biased and disgusting… it's the only place left for me.

"My parents understood that. They didn't like it, and neither do I, but it's the best place for me to be. Besides, I doubt the Ministry is going to suddenly change their ways and get everyone to throw away their blood prejudices on their own. Someone's got to help them. If I have to live in the wizarding world, I'm not going to let it be a discriminating place. I can only change things by being here."

There was silence for a while. Harry knew that no one was asleep, although he was feeling tired. He didn't know how to respond to Dean's speech. He definitely also wanted the wizarding world to put aside their bigotry, but how was he supposed to express that? The Gryffindor way would be with plenty of cheering and rowdiness, but in the dull blue of the darkness, and the pensiveness hanging heavy in the air, it didn't feel appropriate. He also wondered how much Dean knew about the present wizarding attitude. Harry hadn't seen any discrimination toward Muggleborns since the end of the war, but there was definitely bigotry based off blood. Would Dean still be against all discrimination if he wasn't the one affected anymore?

"You really think you can change things?" Neville asked quietly.

"I'm going to try," Dean said, just as quietly. "It was the only thing that made me want to come back. Well, aside from you guys."

"Awwwww," Seamus said obnoxiously, but softly. "I knew you couldn't stay away from us."

Even quieter, Dean murmured, "Don't make me regret coming back. I had my own room, I can't believe I thought I missed sharing with some morons who don't know how to go to bed-"

"Fine," Harry said, "Good night."

"Night."

"Night."

"Night."

"Night."

Harry didn't think any of them, no matter how tired, fell asleep for a long, long time.

 **Chapter word count: 935**

 **Total word count: 28524**

 **Encouragement and inspiration would be greatly appreciated.**


	18. As Though Fire Burns Under your Feet

**Gotta work fast... write fast...**

 **I own nothing.**

The next morning, Hermione was waiting for Harry and Ron at the bottom of their staircase. Harry briefly wondered why she didn't go straight to Dean for his story, but as he was immediately mobbed at his appearance, thought she was smarter than he'd given her credit for. And he'd given her a lot of credit for that.

She didn't deign to ask, but her expectant expression was clear enough. Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"You explain," Harry said.

Ron quickly summarized Dean's manifesto.

Hermione was frowning. Harry waited. He hoped she was going to say something about how Dean needed to focus on the discrimination against the Purebloods now, since nobody was discriminating against Muggleborns anymore, when Hermione spoke.

"I should see if he wants any help."

Harry looked at her incredulously. She noticed.

"I suppose you think there's no discrimination to fight against anymore?" Harry started to mutter something, but Hermione pressed on fiercely. "Slughorn keeps commenting on how it's such a pity I'm not related to the famous Dagworth-Granger. Other students look at me funny when I check out fairy tales from the library to understand what they were laughing about. At the trial a witch remarked that I was lucky I'd been involved in the war so much so my name would be known since I wasn't- "well, you know,"" she mimicked harshly. "The Purebloods may be distrusted now, but us Muggleborns are still seriously disadvantaged and being treated as inferior. Just because no one's calling us "Mudblood"-"

She stopped speaking, breathing rapidly. After a few moments, she continued, more calmly. "There's more than one thing wrong with the wizarding world, and just because it's not the only thing doesn't mean it doesn't need to be fixed."

Harry felt terrible. He couldn't believe he'd missed all of this- it was the end of September. They'd been at school a whole month, and he'd been completely oblivious to the situation Hermione described. She was one of his best friends. The only way he could have not noticed… was if he'd been spending his time elsewhere. Which he had. With the Slytherins.

They'd reached the Great Hall without Harry realizing it. As they sat down, Harry tentatively asked Hermione, "So did the war… not help at all?"

"It helped," Hermione assured him. She smiled at his cautious approach, and Harry relaxed. Apparently she was done raging and was back to reasoning. "It spread awareness and stopped the most radical people, but…" She shrugged, then sighed. "It's like when there was slavery in America."

Ron scowled. "Is that Muggle history?"

"I," said Hermione with great dignity, "am a Muggleborn."

Ron looked apologetic, but Harry was aghast. "Hermione, that's _American_ history!"

"It's history," she stated.

"But why do you know-"

"There was a song," Hermione interrupted impatiently, "that was proven to be historically improbable, and I had to research it to form my own opinion."

Harry shrugged and waited.

"As I was saying," Hermione continued, "when there was slavery in America, oftentimes a slave would try to escape. Escaping might have sounded easy, a one-step process, but it was only the first step. They had to make the journey to a free state or Canada. The song I researched was a map song- it told the slave which direction to go, and how they'd find another river to follow and cross after crossing one. Of course the song wouldn't have actually been used, since it would alert the slave-catchers how to find the runaways, but the idea remains- after the initial escape, there was still a long journey to true freedom.

"That's what it's like now. We won the war, but that was just one river. Here on the other side, there's another river ahead of us. We can follow it for a while, but if we really want to end discrimination, we'll have to cross it. We'll probably have to cross a lot of rivers. But that just means we're getting closer to our goal."

"Hermione, you're starting to lose me," Ron said sheepishly.

Hermione coughed. "That might have been overly poetic. Honestly, I wish we had something as straightforward as a river to follow. There's no map for this. But I think we can do it."

"Sure," Harry said, relieved to have left the metaphorical behind.

Breakfast passed without incident, and afterwards Harry made his way over to the Slytherin table. Today he was taking the third years to Herbology, and they always preferred to get an early start.

Upon his arrival at the table, Harry opened his mouth, about to comment on the blessed lack of incriminating articles that day, when he noticed no one was looking at him. He wondered if he needed to announce his presence, but the third years were getting up, so he knew he wasn't unnoticed. What was going on?

The trip to Herbology was uneventful and oddly quiet. The Slytherins either wouldn't look at him, or shot him serious looks he couldn't decipher. Harry waited at the greenhouse door to see them all safely inside. They filed past him silently. He walked away with nothing but confusion.

Later, Harry walked a few fifth years back to their dorm from Divination. He was not invited inside.

On his way upstairs from the dungeons, Harry passed Malfoy. He was about to ask if something had happened, but Malfoy quickened his pace and brushed past him before he could open his mouth.

Harry frowned at Malfoy's back. What was his problem?

Continuing to Gryffindor Tower, Harry soon ran across a more pleasant companion. "Bill! What are you doing here?"

The Weasley grinned easily at him. "Hey Harry, what's up? I got approval to look at the Hat, so I just spent an hour poking at it with careful Ministry supervision."

Harry snorted, and Bill laughed. "Yeah, I was really lucky they were there, or I would have completely forgotten how to do my job. I also might have ended up stealing the Hat. Apparently you never know and can't be too careful these days."

Harry thought it was a bit late for extra security on the Hat, considering it had supposedly already been cursed. "So did you find anything?"

"There's definitely something there, but it's too closely tied into blood magic. I'll need Malfoy there to really get into it."

"Which Malfoy?" Harry wasn't sure breaking a curse was worth taking a Death Eater out of Azkaban, even temporarily.

"Any Malfoy," Bill said, looking at him with surprise. "That's how blood magic works."

Once again, Harry was reminded of how little he knew about wizarding culture. He supposed Hermione had a point about the odds being stacked against people raised with Muggles. "I didn't know you were going to be here today."

"Neither did I until yesterday," Bill said. "Luckily my schedule was clear, but the Ministry is really enjoying throwing their weight around. I guess they like having control over _something_."

"So do you need to tell Malfoy about what you found?" Maybe then Harry would be able to get some answers on the sudden silent treatment.

"I know I just said my schedule was clear, but it's only clear for the next thirty minutes," Bill said. "I need more time than that to talk to Malfoy, so I thought I'd go to Gryffindor instead."

Harry grinned.

* * *

Bill's entrance to Gryffindor was greeted with much enthusiasm. It almost resembled the previous night's party. Almost. Lately, Gryffindor Tower had been almost constantly upbeat and rowdy, Harry thought. It was a nice change since the beginning of the year. He noticed Parvati chatting with Dean and Seamus and was glad. Parvati and Seamus had been starting to sit together before Dean came back. It was good to see that Dean's arrival hadn't shut her out.

Ron and Ginny sat flanking Bill, Harry and Hermione across from them. Hermione pressed Bill for details on the curse unabashedly, but it seemed most of the fine points were undetectable due to the blood magic.

"If it was Lucius Malfoy's magic, how is it still working?" Hermione asked. "I thought the whole point of him being in Azkaban was that he wouldn't be able to cast magic?"

"Blood magic is tricky," Bill said earnestly. "It's linked to his family's life force, so as long as any of them are alive, the magic stays strong. Also, I'm not sure even Azkaban could cut off the magic's connection to the caster… these sorts of magics don't rely on being casted constantly or consciously, they pretty much take on a life of their own after being cast. They…"

He went on, but Harry couldn't follow. Did this type of magic have anything to do with how Moody's traps had stayed for a while after his death? What about the wards of Grimmauld Place? He didn't know of any other Moodys or Blacks that the magic could have relied on, if it even _was_ blood magic… and why hadn't he learned these things at Hogwarts?

How much did he, and likely many other Muggleborns, not know?

 **Chapter word count: 1515**

 **Total word count: 30039**

 **Reviews would still be nice. That didn't stop being a thing.**


	19. To Dust or to Gold

**I meant it when I said I need to write a lot. Thanks, Shellie2! I'm smiling. I wondered how obscure it would be... And thank you, guest, for being incredible. It might not have felt like much (or it might have felt like a lot, what do I know) but every little bit helps me a ton.**

 **I still don't own Harry Potter or the referenced songs.**

October came, and Harry continued to accompany the younger Slytherins to their classes despite not having exchanged a word with any of the seventh year Slytherins. Harry had no idea what had prompted this sudden shift in attitude, but he blamed Draco. He had seemed to have the most authority in Slytherin, but apparently Harry didn't understand the Slytherins at all.

It confused him. He'd grown used to being invited into the common room, to having the younger ones pester him about his life. Even his friends were accustomed to the Slytherins being in their life, to the extent that they could walk and talk together civilly. Well, mostly. But nobody had had a problem with Harry's decision to support the Slytherins, or befriend them.

He was still being allowed to offer his support through his presence, but it felt as though the strictly political alliance Malfoy had initially described was now the only relationship possible.

Harry told himself he was fine with that. And he was.

There was a new chill in the air, and he found himself wearing his Gryffindor scarf more and more. He would look around and see others from his House wearing the same scarf and feel a warm sense of pride and community. The bold colors surrounded him, in clothing and the leaves falling from the trees and the merry fire crackling in the common room. The red and gold promised to be all he needed, and Harry told himself he believed that.

Gryffindor house continued to find new reasons to celebrate every day. At least once a week, a party was spontaneously thrown, and Harry would laugh and be one of the latest-staying people. He surrounded himself with food and jokes and friends and told himself it was enough.

Sure, Gryffindor Tower was always loud. He liked that! He absolutely did not miss having a calmer, more orderly place to go. He didn't miss having first years beat him at Gobstones. The Gryffindor first years were still intimidated by him, and he couldn't help but stand taller when he saw them. He didn't need first years to understand him.

Most of Gryffindor was still focused on Dean's return, so Harry jumped on that bandwagon and listened to Dean talk about the research he'd done, and what he thought might help Muggleborns in future years. He listened to Hermione give her input, and watched them collaborate excitedly. He watched Ron watch them, or rather, her, and then snickered when Ron noticed Harry watching Ron watch Hermione.

Life was simple. He only had one year's worth of classes, as opposed to everyone else's two.

Then one day Harry remembered why the majority of the school was repeating last year. The previous year, they'd been mocked and tortured, which had severely impacted their academic pursuits. And now, it was severely impacting Harry's mood.

He'd spent so long justifying the Slytherins' innocence that he'd forgotten about their involvement in the war through the school. They may not have killed anyone, but they'd definitely tortured plenty.

The Slytherins themselves weren't helping Harry's image of them. Although they were ignoring him, Harry spent enough time in proximity to them to hear bits of their conversations. Once, a girl was complaining about an unsatisfactory test grade. "It's not exactly what I was learning in Dark Arts last year!"

Dark Arts. They weren't even trying to belong to the Light. Malfoy had even admitted to having Dark magic. Harry had no idea why he had accepted this. Dark magic, probably. At the time Harry had taken Malfoy's definition of Light and Dark completely at face value. Now?

Now he didn't know. Nobody else was using Malfoy's definition. He couldn't believe he had ever started to trust him.

He was studying Potions when he realized something rather obvious. Harry had thought that there were no Slytherins on the staff that year, but Slughorn had been in Slytherin. Why had he thought there weren't any? Oh, it was because he wasn't sure who was Head of Slytherin. He knew it wasn't Slughorn- he'd heard him remarking that the stress had been too much the previous year, and he was glad his job had been reduced to simply teaching. So if the one Slytherin on the staff wasn't the Head of Slytherin, who was?

Ron was next to him, but he wasn't working on his Potions essay, so Harry mentioned his thoughts.

"Oh, yeah, I think they just have a bunch of Ministry people taking turns spying on them," Ron said absently. He was apparently working on his essay after all.

"Serves them right," Harry couldn't keep from muttering.

Now Ron really wasn't working. "What do you mean?"

Harry waved a hand. "You know. Bunch of gits. Need to be watched and all that."

Ron was frowning. "No, I don't know. I thought the Slytherins weren't as terrible as we thought?"

"I thought so too," Harry said darkly.

"Well, I don't know what you're on about," Ron said, "but Malfoy was perfectly civil when he told Ginny and I that Bill would be here next weekend."

"He will?" Harry asked, before realizing the strangest part of that statement. "Wait, Malfoy talked to you?"

"Yes," Ron said. "I don't get why that's a big deal. He talks to you too."

"No," Harry said quietly. "He doesn't."

* * *

Harry was returning from Defense when he saw him. Malfoy. Harry scowled and hunched his shoulders. He wasn't sure if he wanted to loudly confront Malfoy, or stalk past him as though he weren't there. The former wouldn't work, and the latter had already been initiated by Malfoy, so Harry doubted it would be very successful.

Then he realized Malfoy was already talking to someone. It was Dean Thomas. Curious, Harry hung back.

Unfortunately, he couldn't hear much of their conversation, but he hoped that Dean was putting Malfoy in his place. Dean had been held captive at Malfoy Manor, after all, and should have plenty to say to Malfoy, what with his goals to end discrimination and all.

Malfoy looked completely serious. He usually did, these days, but Harry hoped the lack of a scowl meant he was seriously listening to Dean. Harry saw Malfoy nod and walk away from Dean and decided the conversation- or lecture- must have been successful.

He didn't have the chance to talk to Dean then, or any time that day. Dean was still wildly popular in Gryffindor. But two days later, when he had the chance to follow Dean out of Charms, he did so. He'd been one of the last ones out the door, and hurried to catch up to Dean.

He was surprised when he saw Dean take a turn that didn't lead to Gryffindor Tower. Harry followed him, but immediately stopped when he saw that once again, Dean was talking to Malfoy.

Harry ducked behind a column, and again wished that he were closer. He couldn't hear what they were saying. It was too bad he'd left the Invisibility Cloak in his trunk, Harry reflected. He should get back into the habit of carrying that everywhere.

He peeked out. They were still talking. Malfoy didn't seem as tense as he had last time. Their conversation- and Harry was pretty sure that's what it was, not a lecture- was just as short as the last time they had talked. Both Dean and Malfoy went on their respective ways, but Harry was left frozen behind the column.

What was _that_ about?

* * *

Harry wasn't exactly sure how to go tell Dean that he'd stalked him twice and attempted to eavesdrop, but his eavesdropping hadn't been successful and he wanted to know why he'd been talking to Malfoy. It was just a little bit awkward.

So he didn't.

He stopped trying to follow Dean, but soon enough he saw Dean with Malfoy again. This time, they weren't standing in a deserted corridor; they were walking side by side, in public, and didn't seem to care.

Thinking back, Harry hadn't cared much about being seen with Malfoy; it was sort of why they'd started talking in the first place. But why would Dean want to be anywhere near Malfoy? He had the Gryffindors, and it wasn't as though they'd had a good history.

Harry didn't see Dean walking any younger students to class, and Dean didn't have quite the fame Harry did, so he was mostly sure there was no political alliance involved. As far as he could see, there was nothing but simple, occasional chatting.

And that made no sense.

Malfoy wasn't a person to chat with. It felt more and more as though Harry was the only one who felt this way, however. He'd seen Hermione sitting with the Slytherins one morning when he and Ron had stumbled out of bed late. She'd joined them soon enough, but Harry had the terrible feeling that she would have been content to stay there the entire meal. Ginny always said hello to Malfoy when she passed him, and he would nod back. Only Harry was shunned.

* * *

Two weeks before Halloween, nothing had changed. Bill had been at Hogwarts three times, and whenever Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione saw him, he was discussing the Hat with Malfoy. Malfoy was always courteous, except for him ignoring Harry. Harry continued to walk the Slytherins to class, and they continued to either avoid looking at him or frown at him.

Ron and Hermione started picking up on this, and, surprisingly, so did Ginny. Harry realized with a guilty start that he'd only been spending time with her when Bill was at Hogwarts. That would have to change, he decided.

"He really is ignoring you, isn't he," Ron muttered one day as Malfoy nodded to Ron but stared right through Harry as they passed each other.

Harry shrugged. He still had no idea when the Slytherins had decided he wasn't worth being around as anything other than a political statement.

Later, Hermione walked with Harry as he took First Years to Transfiguration. They smiled at her easily enough, and she smiled back, but the smile slipped off her face when the last of them were in the classroom.

"Even the first years?" she asked quietly.

Harry nodded, feeling gratified that his suffering was being recognized.

At dinner, Harry made an effort to sit next to Ginny, who smiled at him. He smiled back. Out of habit, he glanced to the Slytherin table. For once, no one was looking back.

Ginny followed his gaze and frowned. "Harry, what happened?"

"I have no idea," he said honestly. "They just decided I didn't exist one day."

"And what did you do, that day?"

"Why would it be something I did?" Harry almost snapped.

Ginny shrugged, somewhat coolly. "Have you tried asking?"

"They won't talk to me," Harry said, which wasn't an answer. They both knew it.

Ginny was quiet for the rest of the meal.

 **Chapter word count: 1823**

 **Total word count: 31862**

 **I've never forced myself to write so fast before. It's kind of stressing me out and I would really appreciate some words of encouragement. Also I kind of want to do next NaNoWriMo despite this wrecking me but I have no ideas so if you do, please share them! Thanks for reading!**


	20. Your Past to My Future

**Thanks again, Shellie2! I still am determined and own nothing. Let's do this.**

After dinner, the Gryffindors were on their way up to the Tower when Harry realized Ginny wasn't beside him. People suddenly ceasing to walk next to him without explanation seemed to be a recurring incident.

Harry assumed she was somewhere in the large mob of Gryffindors, but upon arriving in the common room, he still couldn't see her anywhere. He made himself resist from asking about her, though. He knew she wouldn't appreciate the insinuation that Harry had to know where she was at all times.

In less than ten minutes, Ginny appeared in the common room. Harry hoped she might come over to tell him where she'd been, but instead she simply glared at him before walking up the stairs to the girl's dormitory. Harry gaped after her. He hadn't even done anything!

* * *

Out of habit, Harry went down to breakfast with the rest of the Gryffindors, despite not having any classes that morning. Professor Tod had informed them the night before that she would not be holding Defense due to not feeling well. A few students had jokingly looked at a lunar calendar and reported that it was not the full moon.

Harry suddenly realized that they could have just looked out the window. It would be great, he thought to himself, if he could maybe realize things as they happened instead of days later.

Most students ate quickly before hurrying to classes. The seventh years stayed; so did the seventh years who were repeating sixth year. Harry wondered if there was a virus going around the staff room. Plenty of the students without classes wandered off, including Ron and Hermione, but since Harry saw Ginny was staying seated, he waved at them to go on without him.

He slid over on the recently-deserted bench to sit across from her. Like the night before, she glared at him.

"What?" he asked.

"I talked to Malfoy last night," she said abruptly. Harry sat up.

Ginny didn't say anything else. Harry waited, but she seemed to think that was all that needed to be said.

She was ignoring Harry almost as well as the Slytherins, except if she really wanted to ignore Harry knew she would've just walked away. Eventually, she glanced at him.

"He told me what you did."

"What _I_ did? He's the one who started ignoring me out of nowhere!"

"It wasn't out of nowhere, and you know it! I have no idea how you can sit there looking all self-righteous and justified after calling him a Death Eater!"

What?

"I never-"

"Just because you didn't say that exactly doesn't mean you didn't imply it as rudely as possible. You were _there_ when Neville explained Pureblood insults, you did it deliberately and- ugh!"

Ginny stood up and stalked out the doors.

Harry was left sitting alone, dumbfounded. He had never called Malfoy a Death Eater- even though he was. He didn't look self-righteous and justified- even though he was. Justified, that is. And he'd never heard Neville explain anything about insults.

What stung the most, though, was that Ginny would believe Malfoy over him. Not only choose his side, but refuse to even hear Harry out. This entire situation was ridiculous and unfair. It was reminding Harry strangely of the years when the Ministry decided he was an attention-seeking liar.

Harry had never accused Malfoy of being a Death Eater, but he was starting to think he should. He remembered how glad he'd been to hear Ginny got detention in the Forbidden Forest, since that was so much safer than being punished in-school. He remembered Neville mentioning that students were made to use the Cruciatus against misbehavers. Neville said he refused to do it, and was punished, but Crabbe and Goyle had loved it. Crabbed had died and Goyle had never come back to school, but Harry had a sick feeling that many of the Slytherins had used the Cruciatus without reservation, and perhaps even enjoyed it. It was true that they may have done it to stay in the Carrows' good graces, but people had resisted. They had a choice between what was right and what was easy, and Harry doubted that they'd chosen what was right.

Harry got up abruptly. He was nearly alone in the Great Hall, and he thought he should leave before he started screaming at someone innocent.

The only person he needed to rage at was Malfoy.

Harry had no idea what Malfoy's classes were that day, although he vaguely remembered once knowing. All he could think of was his fury. It had simmered long enough, while Malfoy had ignored him and Harry had excused his past behavior. It was long since time to let it out.

Harry wandered the corridors of Hogwarts numbly. He had no specific destination as he had no idea where Malfoy might be. He found himself walking through the lower levels of Hogwarts, near the dungeons.

There was still no sign of Malfoy, but Harry was starting to see more and more Slytherins. They ignored him, as usual, but that meant that some of them literally didn't notice his presence, since their friends weren't reacting to someone else's presence.

One kid, maybe a fifth year, maybe a sixth year, maybe both, was talking about Malfoy, and Harry listened in without hesitation. "-and then he said, "I'm good at the Cruciatus, not the levitation charm!""

Harry's stomach twisted. The Slytherins laughed, and Harry gritted his teeth. He refrained from hexing the random student into oblivion. It was Malfoy's fault, he told himself. He was the one who tortured people, he was the one who led the rest of his House to believe jokes like these were funny.

Harry left behind the groups of Slytherins slowly making their ways into the dungeons, but stayed on the main floor. Soon he was alone again.

And then he wasn't. He saw him.

Malfoy.

Malfoy clearly hadn't been expecting to see anyone in this deserted area of Hogwarts, because he accidentally met Harry's eyes. With some satisfaction, Harry noticed Malfoy's eyes widen slightly before he looked down and attempted to forge past Harry.

Harry didn't let him, stepping directly into his path. "What is your problem?" he demanded. "I never did anything to you, but you think it's funny to tell my friends lies?"

"I told her your exact words and every movement you made," Malfoy growled back at him. Harry barely had time to be surprised Malfoy was actually talking to him before he continued. "You're the one who's lying if you think you've done nothing to me."

"Of course I haven't," Harry retorted instantly. "But apparently you can't take a joke, or something. Apparently the only thing funny to you is torture."

"I could say the same to you," Malfoy said, looking him straight in the eyes.

"That doesn't make any sense! All you ever do-"

"Just because you have a few hyphenated titles-"

"-you care more about your hair than-"

"-never even had the common courtesy to send me my wand-"

"-innocent people- wait, of course I sent you your wand- anyway, you-"

"Potter."

"-torturing them, plenty of people resisted but you-"

"Potter!"

"-too busy groveling to notice, I expect-"

" _Harry!_ "

Harry stopped. "What?"

"I never got my wand."

"But I sent it to you."

"You said that, but _I never got it_."

"I don't know what you expect me to do about it, I suppose you think everything revolves around you-"

"Owl post is protected. If someone intercepted my wand, that's a major offense."

It took Harry a few seconds to process that Malfoy wasn't blaming him for anything- not right then, anyway. "Why would someone do that?"

Malfoy shrugged. The gesture seemed surprising… human. It didn't fit with the casual elegance Malfoy usually seemed to exude. Looking closer at him, Harry realized that his face seemed tight, and his eyes tired.

"So what do we do now?"

Malfoy's eyes flicked from the ground to his eyes sharply. Another strangely human movement. Harry had a sense of déjà vu, to when Malfoy had first approached him to enlist his help protecting the younger Slytherins. Harry had used inclusive pronouns then, too.

Malfoy had been quiet so long Harry was almost afraid he was back to ignoring him, but Malfoy finally spoke. "Find the thief."

"How?"

"We can find where the owl you used came from, and read through its records. We can plot the expected flight path of the owl and pinpoint areas of risk. We can…" Malfoy continued, but all Harry could process was the relief that, unlike when they'd first discussed Harry being around the Slytherins, Malfoy was using the word "we".

Malfoy finished with his list of ways to find his wand, and stood silent. "Now?" Harry asked.

Malfoy gave him a curt nod. "Come on."

 **Chapter word count: 1472**

 **Story word count: 33334**

 **What do these kids even do in their spare time? It escapes me. Please review! You could answer that or not, just tell me something!**


	21. From Your Solitude

**Hello everyone! Shellie2, I would technically be okay with you not reviewing every chapter... I'm starting to feel silly giving you a shoutout every chapter... What am I saying, I love your reviews and am very happy about getting to give shoutouts! No pressure... but thank you so much!**

 **This is happening. I'm so glad I get to write this even though I didn't write Harry Potter.**

Harry's relief at Malfoy talking to him was tempered by trepidation as they entered the dungeons. He'd learned that he was safe in the Slytherin common room, but that had been then- for several weeks, the people he had trusted had shunned him. Would they still do him no harm?

He knew he should also be asking himself if he could even trust Malfoy. They hadn't put aside their differences, after all. Harry hadn't apologized for whatever it was Malfoy thought he'd done, and Malfoy hadn't tried to justify his torturing of people at all.

Despite not understanding why they'd even been fighting in the first place, Harry was glad the long silence was over. Surely any differences they had could be overcome by talking about it. Okay, so that probably wouldn't have worked with the Death Eaters, but Harry had decided before the trial that Malfoy wasn't really a Death Eater- at least, not of his own volition- and therefore shouldn't be blamed. Too much. Harry couldn't believe that he'd been starting to think of Malfoy as a Death Eater. He was just a person who'd been thrown in a war. Just like him.

At the blank stone wall Harry knew covered the entrance to the Slytherin common room, he hung back a bit, allowing Malfoy to mutter the password without listening in. Stone hissed apart, and Malfoy strode forward without looking back. Taking a deep breath, Harry followed.

The Slytherin common room seemed strangely unchanged. The fire was still warm, and the light from the lake was still eerie in an atmospheric way befitting the Halloween season. Students chatted easily, most not looking up at the door's opening. Malfoy went straight to a table occupied by Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson.

He sat down, and Harry did likewise. Glancing at them, Parkinson muttered, "About time."

Malfoy scowled at her.

He didn't bother explaining to his friends what they were doing, and they for the most part ignored Harry and Malfoy. It felt different than the pointed silences Harry had been treated to the past weeks, somehow.

Malfoy took out a blank sheet of parchment, ink, and a quill before looking expectantly at Harry. "Where did you get the owl?"

"Er… the Ministy?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Harry resisted the urge to attempt to raise one back, knowing he'd probably fail miserably. "It was when they were trying to interview me. I asked for an owl and somehow I got one."

Malfoy sighed. "When did you send the owl?"

"The war ended May second, so… May fifth?"

"Glad to know it was a top priority," Malfoy muttered as he scribbled down the date.

"To be fair, I was unconscious for a bit, and I asked for it sooner than I got it."

"Where did you release the owl?"

"From inside the Ministry…"

Malfoy sighed again, and abruptly crunched his piece of parchment into a ball. "This won't help. The Ministry has several exits for owls, and I was being watched at that time. Anyone could have gotten to the owl, and there's no way of tracking that owl's records if you got it so haphazardly."

"So what now?"

"Your favorite thing," Malfoy smirked. "Dark magic."

* * *

It wasn't as bad as Malfoy had made it out to be. It appeared to be just a simple ritual that would search for a wand with an essence well-suited to Malfoy's own. Apparently wandmakers used this all the time to assign wands, but since Malfoy wasn't a wandmaker or practiced in this ritual, he would need a little more preparation.

Harry had worried that "preparation" meant blood sacrifices and whatnot, but Malfoy simply jotted down a few potion ingredients that would be useful to have nearby and told Harry they would try it at the next full moon. He didn't mention the date, and Harry didn't want to let it slip that he didn't have the lunar calendar memorized, so he simply nodded. Later, he asked some Gryffindors taking Astronomy. The full moon was after Halloween.

Harry didn't know why, but he'd been feeling apprehensive toward Halloween. It was true that plenty of strange and terrible things had happened on that day, but there'd been nothing in the past few years. The worst that could happen was probably somebody mentioning Voldemort killing Harry's parents, which he already got on a weekly basis.

Perhaps his paranoia came from his renewed proximity to the Slytherins. They all seemed to be getting excited for the holiday, and Harry had a feeling it had to do with Dark magic. He didn't ask about it, but his curiosity seemed to be noted.

"Have you ever heard of Samhain?" Millicent Bulstrode said quietly to him one day.

Harry was surprised. They didn't talk much.

"I don't think so," he answered truthfully.

"It's become Halloween for most people, but the date marks the beginning of the darker half of the year," she said. "And the Darker half."

Harry didn't know how he could hear capitalization, but her words seemed to carry more weight whenever she, or anyone, mentioned Dark magic.

Harry didn't ask for more details. She didn't give him any more.

* * *

Harry hadn't wanted to jeopardize his acceptance in Slytherin, but one evening as he sat with Malfoy and the other seventh years, he heard someone behind him remark on how Malfoy had the best Cruciatus in the House.

He barely registered the laughing behind him. Harry could barely keep from shaking. He had no idea who was talking at their table, or what they were saying. He interrupted them, not caring about anything else. "How is that funny?"

All eyes were suddenly on him. The silence felt heavy, even though the other students in the common room were carrying on with their conversations.

Finally, Blaise Zabini sighed. "You know the thing with the Unforgivables," he said, "is that you have to mean them. And I can't speak for anyone else, but I didn't actually want to torture anyone. I did want them to act as if they were being tortured so I wouldn't be tortured, though."

Harry frowned. There was a point in there, but he wasn't getting it.

"The Ministry is right for once when they call the Unforgivables Dark magic," Malfoy said quietly. "It's the intent that matters. We could say whatever we wanted and not make anything happen. Or we could say one thing and will another."

Harry still wasn't getting it, and it must have showed, because Pansy Parkinson said, "The Imperiatus was very useful for looking like a perfect little Death Eater. I got good at using it nonverbally."

"I was better," Malfoy muttered.

"And that's why we joke about his skill with the Cruciatus," Nott finished.

That made perfect sense, and allowed Harry to see the Slytherins as innocent, which was a relief, except… "So why hasn't anyone been talking about how they were never actually tortured?"

Malfoy frowned. "I don't know."

"The thing about Dark magic," Bulstrode said, "is that most of it hasn't been tested. Because the Ministry is so unwilling to have anything to do with it. Granted, testing the Unforgivables probably wouldn't be a great idea- but we told them not to tell anyone while they were under the Imperatus. We don't know if that's actually still in effect, or if they subconsciously decided not to tell on us, or if they really don't remember."

"Oh," was all Harry could manage. He thought about asking if there was any way they could check, but he'd have to find someone who was tortured and get their consent to have their torturer stick a wand at them and do experimental magic. That probably wouldn't happen. Also, Harry wasn't eager to go around and bring up memories of torture.

If the Slytherins had been okay for this long, he reasoned, there was no reason why they should need to mess with people's heads to get them to trust them. So he let the matter drop.

* * *

Although Harry was spending time with the Slytherins, feelings were still tense. Harry hadn't learned what had started the fight, and knew it was still hanging over them. He definitely didn't remember ever calling Malfoy a Death Eater.

Thinking back, Harry thought that Malfoy's silence had started sometime around when Dean had returned. The last time they'd spoken was when they were joking about the article. And they'd definitely been joking. Malfoy had responded to everything Harry threw out, and Harry was sure he'd seen his lips twitching.

Why would that lead to Malfoy claiming Harry had called him a Death Eater? Harry had named off some reasons why Hermione would never date Malfoy, but his Dark Mark wasn't one of them.

Despite his wariness around Harry, Malfoy seemed to have decided to teach Harry the ways of the wizarding world. He was always informing him of some small fact or tradition, it seemed. Malfoy avoided being condescending, which Harry appreciated, but it felt a little ridiculous when Malfoy, in all seriousness, began to inform Harry of the meaning of shaking hands.

"I do know that much," Harry told him, amused. "It's a Muggle custom too."

He thought of when Malfoy had offered his friendship on the train first year. He didn't regret turning him down, but couldn't help but wonder about what might have been. Absolutely insane, he decided quickly, and moved on.

"It seems like most wizarding customs are actually Muggle ones too," Harry said. "Saying "bless you" when someone sneezes, holding doors, making eye contact, having a Christmas feast… what?" Malfoy was looking at him with… was that dread? "Is having something in common with Muggles upsetting you?"

"Tell me," Malfoy said. His words sounded clipped. "What exactly is the Muggle meaning of making eye contact?"

Confused, Harry said, "Well, it just shows that you're invested in the conversation or the person, right? It's not complicated."

"Actually…"

Harry looked at Malfoy. Harry wasn't great at reading Malfoy's emotions when they weren't a sneer or a smirk, but this was definitely something positive and it reminded Harry of relief, or hope.

"Apparently, it is complicated."

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. (He was still slightly upset that he couldn't raise a single eyebrow flawlessly.)

"In the wizarding world, making eye contact signifies that what you are saying has a larger meaning. When what's being said is even slightly negative, the eye contact turns it into an enormous, subtle insult."

Harry thought that sounded rather pointed. An enormous insult? One big enough to make an entire House stop speaking to him for weeks?

And then he remembered. When he'd been joking with Malfoy, after the article came out, he'd looked him in the eyes as he said something about how Malfoy hadn't changed since first year. If Malfoy was looking for a massive insult in those words, Harry could see how he might have come to the conclusion that Harry had called him a Death Eater.

This definitely was his fault. He needed to fix this.

"So if I looked at the ground," Harry began, looking at the ground, "and told you that you were a stubborn, immature git with no redeeming Gryffindor qualities…"

"I'd be extremely grateful that you think so highly of me," Malfoy drawled, amused sarcasm evident. Harry thought he also heard real gratitude, and hoped he wasn't imagining that his apology had been accepted.

"In that case," with his gaze carefully fixed on the ground, "you're the most annoying Slytherin I've ever met and the amount of time you spend combing your hair is enough for Muggles to discover the wizarding world."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

 **Chapter word count: 1943**

 **Story word count: 35277**

 **Reviews would be cool.**


	22. These Walls They're Crashing Down

**Hey guys! Thanks, Shellie2, that's exactly what I wanted to know! And thank you so much, guests! What you say really means a lot to me.**

 **I don't own anything that makes money.**

After spending a few days almost solely with the Slytherins, Harry decided it was high time he spent some time with the Gryffindors. Hermione was alternating between reading and watching Ron coach Neville at chess.

Harry sat down next to her. She smiled at him.

"I assume you figured out why Malfoy was mad at you?"

"Yeah," Harry said, somewhat sheepishly. Looking back on it, he'd allowed their fight to go on for a ridiculous amount of time. "Apparently in the wizarding world eye contact can be an insult, depending on what you're saying…"

"You mean you said something slightly negative that Malfoy took as incredibly contemptuous?"

"Yeah… wait, how do you know about this?"

"If by "this" you mean what eye contact means, that would be because I listened to Neville."

"Were you even at that conversation?"

"I asked him later. But honestly, Harry, didn't you hear any of what he was saying? It may be an old insult, but you mentioned to the Slytherins that we'd been talking about the old ways. Malfoy would've assumed you knew what you were doing."

"Yeah, I got that. We're good now."

"Good."

"…but seriously, how could it be so different from the Muggle customs? We're all human, right?"

Hermione sighed. "Harry, just because we're all human doesn't mean we don't have different cultures. And you know you can't just divide the world into Muggle and wizarding cultures, eye contact may be polite in Europe but it isn't in Asia."

"…oh."

Ginny was sitting nearby and smiled at him. Harry was glad that she'd forgiven him, even if he'd had to apologize to Malfoy and bare his stupidity to earn it.

Hermione went back to reading her book, so Harry looked to Ron. Ron had apparently given up at helping Neville, and had moved to the other side of the chess board to help Dean. Dean was more interested in talking to Seamus and Neville than playing chess, however, so Ron soon moved away, leaving the game unfinished.

He turned to Harry abruptly. "Have you heard anything about Quidditch?"

"No," Harry said. "Not since we signed up."

Ron scowled, and Ginny leaned forward. "The House teams have been practicing. We had tryouts last weekend."

There was a short silence. Finally, Harry broke it.

"Do you think…" He had to stop. The thought was too terrible. He forced himself to continue. "Do you think they decided we just wouldn't be allowed to play? Since we didn't have enough seventh years from the House?"

Ron gasped. Hermione rolled her eyes, but Ginny looked sympathetic. "You know, you could always ask," she suggested.

Ron looked at her blankly. "Ask who?"

"The Head of House. She's sitting right there."

And so she was. As usual, Professor Tod was scribbling on some parchment Harry doubted was an essay. The most popular conspiracy was that she was spying on them, but the more plausible theory was that she still had whatever her old Ministry job was on top of her teaching.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, shrugged, and went up to her. She looked at them expectantly.

"What's going on with seventh year Quidditch?" Ron asked bluntly.

Professor Tod frowned, but not at him. "I think there was something on the announcement board… You're responsible for making your own teams."

"Yeah, but… don't we need more players? Only four of us signed up."

"Oh, don't worry about that! Out of all the seventh years, there should be enough players for one or two teams!" She smiled, as if this information would make everything fall into place, and went back to her paperwork.

Harry and Ron stood there, dumbfounded, for a moment before slowly making their way back to where Hermione and Ginny were now chatting. They sat down.

"Well?" Ginny demanded.

"We have to…"

"What?"

"The seventh year teams… aren't like the House teams," Harry tried to explain.

"You already knew that," Hermione pointed out.

"They aren't even divided by House."

"Oh," Ginny said quietly.

"What's the problem with that?" Hermione asked.

" _Hermione_!" Ron was scandalized. "We can't give away House training secrets! They'd learn our techniques, and steal our plays, and, and… it's just not right!"

"Wouldn't you be playing against the House teams though?"

"Yeah…"

"Then there's no way they'd let secrets slip to an opposing team, even to their Housemates. You do realize that they would have exactly the same reservations as you."

"But they're _different Houses_."

"And Harry's been socializing with the Slytherins all year," not counting the weeks he'd been ignored, "and they're people too."

Ron wasn't convinced. Ginny was.

"You could put together all the most powerful players in your year," she said wistfully, then smirked. "That is, if they haven't already banded together and formed teams without you…"

Suddenly galvanized, Ron started listing off the Chasers who had led their teams to near-victory in the past few years. Harry grinned. Ron wasn't listing any Slytherins, but he had a feeling that if they could convince Malfoy to play Chaser, they'd be set.

The energy lasted until dinner. Ron and Harry convinced Ginny and Hermione to go down early with them, so they could go around the different tables and ask the seventh years if they were playing Quidditch.

"Excellent," Ron murmured as they passed through the doors. Harry followed his gaze to one of the Ravenclaw Beaters Ron had been considering. Ron changed direction slightly, heading straight for her. Harry moved to follow him, but Ron said, "I've got this," and waved him toward the Slytherins.

Harry probably should've expected to be to be the ambassador to the Slytherins. He shrugged mentally and went to sit at his usual spot, still somewhat incredulous that he even had a "usual spot" at the Slytherin table.

"Were you planning on playing Quidditch this year?" he asked to no one in particular.

A few people answered yes, but they weren't seventh years so Harry ignored them. They took that as a dismissal and turned back to their meals.

"Well?" This time, he looked only at the seventh years.

They shook their heads, but Harry noticed that Malfoy hadn't moved. He was staring at his dinner.

"Well?" he asked again, this time only to Malfoy. He looked up before looking back at his plate.

"I don't have a broom."

The words were so soft Harry almost missed them. It took him a moment to confirm that yes, those were the words he'd heard, and another to realize-

"I don't either."

They sat there in silence, looking at their respective plates. Harry had no idea if the awkward moment would ever end, but it did, unexpectedly, courtesy of Ron.

"What's up?" he asked from behind Harry.

Harry twisted slightly in his seat. "Remember when we were playing Quidditch this summer-"

Ron was nodding. "I can ask George to send you his."

The serious atmosphere was not dispelled. Ron noticed. "Is that not-"

"It is," Harry assured him. "It's just…" It wasn't his place to beg for charity for Malfoy, but he doubted Malfoy would ask on his own. He was still feeling indecisive when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy once more raise his head.

Malfoy took a breath, but before he could say anything, Ron said, "I can ask George to send you theirs."

He wasn't looking at Malfoy. "Really?" Harry said.

"I said I would," he said, to Harry. "And he probably will. I mean, it's for Quidditch."

"Great," Harry said. "Thanks."

He didn't expect Malfoy to say anything, and he understood that. He hoped Ron did too.

Harry stood up, nodding a goodbye to the Slytherins, and turned to join the Gryffindors for dinner. Ron followed him.

After taking only one step, Harry thought he heard a whispered, "Thanks," from behind him. He heard Ron inhale sharply, but they didn't stop.

"So who's on the team?" Ginny asked immediately upon their arrival at the Gryffindor table.

Ron immediately listed off the names of a few Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff, then hesitated and looked to Harry.

"What?"

"Did he actually agree to play or not?"

"Oh."

"What do you mean, "oh"?"

"I guess so."

"You guess? I don't suppose you talked to him about playing Seeker or Chaser or whatever?"

"No…"

"Well." Ron looked back to Ginny. "In that case, we might also have Malfoy as a Chaser or reserve Seeker. Or reserve Chaser. Or who knows, he might have become a Keeper in the last year."

Harry groaned. "I guess I need to work on my communication skills…"

"Don't we all," Hermione muttered drily. Harry had a feeling she wasn't talking about herself.

 **Chapter word count: 1446**

 **Story word count: 36723**

 **Reviews are still very much appreciated!**


	23. With That Shadow Upon the Ground

**This is still happening. Thanks, Shellie2... that last chapter sucked so I'm really grateful you had something nice to say about it.**

 **This one doesn't suck though.**

 **I own nothing.**

Halloween was fast approaching. Hagrid's pumpkins were ready to be harvested and carved, and the feast was being eagerly anticipated. Harry thought the Slytherins seemed especially excited, but didn't want to make any assumptions. He thought about what Millicent Bulstrode had said, that Halloween signaled the beginning of the darker half of the year.

He was still thinking about Dark magic when Bill came once more to Hogwarts to do some tests on the Hat. They were in the Slytherin common room when they heard the knock. A nearby fifth year had opened the door warily. Waiting on the other side were Bill and a stone-faced Ministry wizard. Harry and Malfoy went up to the open door at once. Bill briefly explained that he needed Malfoy there to really look at the curse, so Malfoy went with him and Harry was left behind in the Slytherin common room.

He was slightly stunned at his sudden abandonment. It felt as though without Malfoy, he wasn't supposed to be there. Nobody was acting as though anything was out of the ordinary, however, so he went back to the table where he'd been quietly studying with the other seventh years. Harry was not immediately kicked out, so he counted himself welcome and continued his work.

The quiet atmosphere of Slytherin was much more conductive to studying than Gryffindor's, Harry mused as he finished his Charms essay. Although it had still taken plenty of time, he'd been able to focus and was uninterrupted. Despite knowing he'd spent the better part of an hour on the assignment, the time seemed short, if well-spent, which was why he was surprised when Malfoy walked back into the common room.

"Back so soon?" he couldn't resist asking.

Malfoy took his time sitting down and neatening the papers he'd left out before he'd gone with Bill. Harry had learned that obsessive tidiness, from Malfoy, meant irritation. "Apparently," Malfoy said, voice tight, "my father wasn't the only one who thought a more selective Sorting was necessary."

He paused. "Black. Lestrange. Nott. Avery. Dolohov. Rookwood. And Malfoy, of course."

The Slytherins reacted immediately, with widened eyes and hands over mouths, but Harry sat there, confused. All he'd heard was a list of names.

Malfoy noticed. "They all cursed the Hat. The curse is messy and tangled and even though it's blood magic I won't be able to undo any of it without someone from all of the families."

The problem was suddenly apparent to Harry. "We don't have someone from all of those families." The only people that he knew of from most of those families were in Azkaban.

Harry received a few nods of resigned acknowledgment. Then everyone went back to their homework.

"Aren't we going to talk about what to next?" Harry asked, somewhat scandalized at the lack of action.

There was a long silence in which the seventh years avoided looking at him. Finally, Malfoy sighed.

"There's nothing else to do."

"But the Pureblood families are all connected, right? Couldn't you draw off that to get around not having everyone?"

There was another pause. Harry noticed the Slytherins shooting furtive glances at each other, as if trying to determine who should answer. Once again, it was Malfoy who ended up speaking. Harry idly wondered if that was how he had earned so much respect in his House.

"Blood magic hasn't exactly been deeply studied. Most Dark magic hasn't, since the Ministry is so afraid of it. But most families agree that the inherited magic is tied to the family name. If it wasn't, heirs would receive the powers of two families, and every generation would become more and more powerful. If anything, power levels are decreasing. So blood magic only works if you have the same name."

The logic was sound, but it still bothered Harry. "And you're sure there's no other way to get around it?"

Zabini rolled his eyes. "All in favor of breaking a few Death Eaters out of Azkaban?"

No one raised their hands. Harry agreed with that decision, but couldn't help but ask, "Couldn't you-"

"There's no way to even try to undo the blood magic, and it was never likely that I could undo my family's magic in the first place. There's really no way to move forward from here. Let it go."

Harry didn't let it go, but he stayed quiet for a while. Was there really no way to break the curse? It wouldn't be fair if the Hat continued to deny Muggleborns entry to Slytherin, and automatically sort certain families. That wouldn't help the reputation of Slytherin either.

He knew fairness wouldn't help break any curses, but it still stung. Something else was bothering him, though, and he wasn't sure what it was. Something about blood magic…

"Just so we're clear," he said abruptly, "blood magic is Dark magic?"

"Yes," Malfoy said. He seemed to have calmed down since his earlier outburst.

"But I thought that's what Dumbledore used as wards for me."

It was very convenient to not have to explain his mother's sacrifice, thanks to the many interviews he'd undergone directly after the war, but it still felt strange when Malfoy was able to respond instantly without asking for clarification.

"Dumbledore didn't set up the wards as much as finish what your mother started."

Harry swallowed. He wanted answers, but this might be an awkward conversation. "But if Dark magic is only found in, you know, people from the old families…"

"It's not that exclusive, it's just more predictable with the older families. And she would have received the Potter family magic when she married."

"Are you… are you saying the Potters are Dark?"

"You're rather well-known for being able to cast a Patronus," Nott noted.

"Yes," Harry said, unsure how this related to the possibility of his having Dark magic.

"The Patronus charm relies on emotion to be cast, more than a specific incantation," he continued.

"You're saying the Patronus charm is Dark," Harry said numbly. "It's literally a shiny, glowing, embodiment of happiness."

Nott shrugged. "It's Dark."

"And you know that the Unforgivables are Dark," Parkinson added.

Harry nodded. This much he did know, and was relieved to be back on solid ground.

"Throwing off the Imperiatus doesn't exactly require any special wand movements, just will."

Harry sat stunned. "So you all think I'm Dark?"

"We thought it was rather obvious," Millicent Bulstrode said apologetically.

"Oh," Harry said. "Okay."

"Did you really not notice?" Malfoy asked.

Harry groaned. "You have to tell me these things, I never notice until it's too late…"

They worked in silence for a while, and Harry joined them this time. He didn't think he had a problem with being Dark, but he wasn't managing to process it very well at the time, so he thought he might as well continue with life as normal.

He had relaxed, and it seemed the other Slytherins had as well, until he noticed Malfoy was tense and, although he was staring at his parchment, wasn't writing.

Harry had a feeling this had to do with their conversation, but which subject? The failure to untangle the curse on the Hat, blood magic, or Harry's Dark magic?

Malfoy had been angry about being powerless, Harry knew, but he had expressed that anger and then refused to return to it. Harry decided that although that would be a plausible cause for Malfoy's tension, it was unlikely.

The only thing Malfoy could have against the topic of blood magic would be something about blood purity. That was a conversation Harry really didn't want to have, but he didn't think he would have to, somehow. Not soon, anyway.

That left the topic of Harry himself, and his magic. Harry had no idea why this would trigger Malfoy, but something wavered in his brain. He had the strange feeling that if he was holding a Remembrall, it would be bright red.

He decided to trust his instinct and go for it. "Is there any way to test if I have Dark magic?"

"You do." Malfoy's voice was clipped, and Harry would have expected a longer answer had Malfoy been fine. The other Slytherins looked at him with concern, apparently just noting his lack of composure. Harry felt somewhat gratified at being the first to notice, for once.

He still didn't know why Malfoy was on edge, however, so he decided that obviously the best approach would be to push him further. "But-"

"Leave it!"

By this point Malfoy was definitely angry, and Harry could feel it all directed at himself. Irritation rose hot within him. "What did I ever do to you?"

Malfoy's face went from red to white. Staring Harry in the eyes, he whispered, "Leave."

Harry realized abruptly that he'd pushed too far, and started to scoot his chair backward when Malfoy said, "Not you," still looking him in the eyes.

"Leave," he said again.

The other Slytherins left.

Harry stayed. Malfoy was still white. Harry wasn't sure if it was out of anger, or if he had calmed down. He definitely seemed to have regained his self-control.

"You really think you never did anything to me?" Malfoy asked, quietly.

Harry shook his head cautiously.

Malfoy reached up to the collar of his shirt and pulled it, ever so slightly, to the left.

And Harry saw it. The thick scar ran over Malfoy's shoulder and down across his chest at a diagonal. Malfoy released his shirt, but the image stayed branded in Harry's mind.

He remembered sixth year.

He remembered the bathroom, the impromptu duel, an unknown curse found scribbled in an old book.

Harry swallowed.

Malfoy nodded. "I believe you were waving your wand rather wildly, if my scars are any indication. Whatever that spell was, it definitely relied on intent rather than precision."

Harry couldn't speak, staring at Malfoy in horror.

"You're Dark. Congratulations."

Malfoy continued to sit there, and looked back at Harry as Harry continued to stare. Malfoy seemed to have calmed down again, and Harry had a feeling his face was white. He couldn't feel anything except a crushing feeling in his chest.

"How can you stand being in the same room as me?" he whispered finally.

"Ask Thomas… Dean," Malfoy said. "How he can stand to be in the same room as me."

Harry continued to sit still. Malfoy sighed, and Harry thought he saw some of the earlier anger return. "You should go ask him now," he said. "Before I say something I'll regret."

Harry nodded, and left silently.

 **Chapter word count: 1758**

 **Story word count: 38601**

 **...reviews would be great. Thanks for reading!**


	24. Get In Your Places

**Getting this done before November obviously isn't happening anymore. I guess I'll get it done before the end of the year. Thanks, Shellie2 and guest! As always, what you say helps me get through the day and encourages me to write!**

 **I own nothing.**

Harry walked numbly to the Gryffindor common room. He soon realized that he'd forgotten his homework in the dungeons, but couldn't bring himself to worry too much. The Slytherins were trustworthy, and if he'd interpreted Malfoy's phrasing correctly, he would be welcomed back once they'd both had time to cool down and, in Harry's case, find answers.

For once, Dean was sitting by himself in the common room. Harry felt a vague sense of regret at having to interrupt what was probably the first quiet moment Dean had had since coming back, but sat down next to him nonetheless. Rather than scowling or bemoaning his sudden lack of solitude, Dean smiled at him.

Harry couldn't bring himself to smile back. He could barely bring himself to even speak.

"I saw you talking with Malfoy the other day," he managed hesitantly.

Dean nodded easily. "Yeah, after being held prisoner in his basement I thought we should talk."

"But…" Harry couldn't think of anything to say other than what he'd asked Malfoy earlier. "How can you stand being in the same room, even the same school as him?"

Dean looked at him in surprise. "I thought you were hanging around him, too."

Harry shrugged, not wanting to explain what the conversation was actually about.

"Well, at first I thought I needed to confront him, so I did, but when he took me seriously and listened to me I realized I didn't know anything about him or his motivations. I mean, I thought I did but he acted like a completely different person than I had built up in my head. So I asked him why he was ever on Voldemort's side, and he told me.

"And he apologized.

"I think the war forced us all to grow up. He's a lot different now, and so am I. Before I never would've rested until he was in Azkaban. Now?

"Now I've grown up, so I forgave him."

Harry couldn't move. Again. The day had been full of stunning revelations. He really should be getting used to this, and realizing things without having to be told. But no, he was still paralyzed with his new knowledge.

Dean let him sit there and turned back to his parchment. Harry didn't bother checking if it was homework or if Dean was just doodling.

Malfoy had compared himself to Dean. If Dean could stand to be around Malfoy because he'd apologized, Malfoy could stand to be around Harry because…

Harry hadn't apologized. He should, and would, but Malfoy had tolerated his presence long before Harry had remembered the harm he'd done. And it couldn't have anything to do with listening to Harry explain why he'd done what he did, because Harry hadn't explained anything. Even if he did explain, Harry doubted that would help any. He hadn't known what the spell would do, and that was no better than casting it with the full knowledge of its effects.

So what was left? Was Malfoy tolerating him simply because he'd grown up?

The idea was incredible to Harry, but it was the only thing that made any sense.

Malfoy may have grown up, but now that Harry was aware of the literal and figurative scars he had caused, he felt obligated to apologize. He made to get up and hesitated. Had Malfoy calmed down? Was he ready to see him?

Harry thought for a moment and decided that yes, Malfoy would be ready to see him. He tended to calm down quickly. Besides, he should be expecting Harry to act quickly and not put off conversations.

If for some reason he was not welcome, Harry reasoned, he could always say he was there to collect his homework and leave.

He stood up decisively and left the Gryffindor common room, only barely remembering to nod goodbye to Dean.

The trek across Hogwarts to the dungeons was long, Harry knew, but it seemed to pass quickly. He didn't bother rehearsing an apology- Malfoy would definitely be able to tell a practiced speech from an honest, impromptu one.

Upon reaching the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Harry paused awkwardly. He didn't know the password, although he had a feeling he might be able to guess it if he had to. He knew knocking was an option, but it didn't feel right. Besides, he didn't want to draw too much attention to his entrance.

Luckily for him, a fourth year came along soon enough. Harry was gratified to not have to explain himself or beg entry- the kid simply let him in without comment.

The common room seemed to be exactly as Harry had left it. Harry's homework sat on the table he'd been working at, and next to it sat Malfoy. The other seventh years were still on the other side of the common room, where they'd settled down after Malfoy had dismissed them. Harry took a deep breath, and walked over to reclaim his seat next to Malfoy.

Malfoy didn't immediately tell him to leave, so Harry decided he was welcome. Malfoy made no move to break the silence between them, however. Harry supposed that fell to him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Malfoy said nothing, so Harry continued. "I should never have used that spell. I didn't know what it did, so I should have stuck to what I knew. And I'm sorry I didn't take it seriously. Even when we were fighting I never wanted to see you get hurt- not really hurt, anyway. I guess I forgot that not everything has a perfect magical cure."

They were quiet for a while. Malfoy's silence didn't feel accusing, but it was definitely awkward. Harry waited.

"I broke your nose," Malfoy said suddenly.

"Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten." Harry really had. "That was easy to fix, though, and somehow I don't think you'd do it again."

"No," Malfoy said quietly. "I wouldn't."

"I wouldn't either," Harry said, then paused. "What were we even fighting about?"

"In sixth year?"

"All these years."

"It may have had something to do with my parents working for the person who killed your parents."

"If that were it I wouldn't be talking to you now," Harry said.

"Then Quidditch, prejudice, your paranoia, my fabulous song-writing skills, House loyalty, the weather…"

"Right, those were problematic. But if you never write a song again I think we'll be okay."

"Rude," Malfoy muttered, but when Harry snuck a glance at him he was smiling faintly at his parchment.

The conversation seemed to be over, so Harry went back to the homework he'd left on the table. He didn't get very far into it before noticing the huddle of scowling black-cloaked adults in a corner. Harry guessed they were the Ministry officials acting as Slytherin's Head. Unlike Professor Tod, however, they were sneaking distrusting looks at the students, and Harry could easily picture them as spies.

Abruptly, Harry asked, "Do Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff still have Flitwick and Sprout?"

Malfoy nodded absently. Harry scowled. At the end of the year, when the Slytherins failed to reveal themselves as cultists working to resurrect Voldemort, the Ministry would claim the averted disaster was all due to their watchful eyes.

Something had to change.

* * *

The next morning, Harry was wary of the letter a barn owl dropped on his plate. He'd gotten plenty of mail after the article, with mixed reactions, but the letters had slowed the past few days, and Harry had thought that they'd stopped.

The envelope was blank, so Harry picked it up gingerly, and poked it a bit with his wand before opening it. He didn't know why he did that, but he hoped it might help.

The parchment inside the envelope was stamped with the Ministry's seal, and Harry considered tossing it into the fire without reading it before realizing this could be something he could use. The last time he'd ignored a call from the Ministry, it had been for Malfoy's trial. It was possible that this was something similarly important. If it wasn't, it might be an opportunity for Harry to make his voice heard. Like Dean had said, running away wouldn't change anything.

He read the letter.

It seemed to be much longer than Harry thought strictly necessary, full of fanfare and lists of titles. Harry thought that it looked like a request that he give a speech, but decided to have Hermione or Malfoy read it for him to check that he hadn't drastically misinterpreted the flowery writing.

Malfoy was on the other side of the Hall, so Harry passed the parchment to Hermione. She scanned through it briefly and smiled at him.

"So are you going?"

"To do what?"

"To give the speech, of course!"

"Um… what exactly did they want to me to give a speech about?" Harry looked at Hermione sheepishly.

She huffed. "About how life is different, better, since the end of the war, and presumably how it's all thanks to the Ministry."

"Do you think I should?"

"Well, it's your speech. You'd definitely be able to say what you wanted, even if the Ministry doesn't like it… you could talk about how it's been failing, actually, and how it's thanks to the students that anything is working at all…"

"Go for it," Ron advised, but Hermione was biting her lip.

"I thought you wanted me to do it?" Harry asked.

"I do, but… Harry, they want it to be on Halloween."

Harry picked up the letter from where Hermione had laid it on the table. Sure enough, the date of Halloween was spelled out in the middle of a particularly long paragraph. Harry decided not to blame himself for not noticing.

"I know my Halloweens haven't always been the best, but the date makes sense," Harry reflected out loud. "It would probably be fine. I mean, nothing crazy has happened on Halloween for years."

Ron nodded encouragingly, and Hermione said, "I suppose…" and Harry grinned.

Included in the envelope was a simple form indicating whether or not he would give the speech. Harry dug out a quill and some ink, but hesitated before checking a box. "How am I going to get there?"

"Honestly, Harry, didn't you read the letter?"

Harry shrugged.

"The wizard who lives close to the Ministry- you know, Mr. Weasley's friend- is letting you Floo through his house, and will even walk you in, since he apparently works for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Hermione pointed his name out in the letter. Ron craned his neck around Hermione's back to see.

"Mr. Mitxel? Yeah, it was fine last time, right?"

"Okay," Harry said, and checked the box next to the statement indicating he would show up and give the speech. "I'll mail this after class."

 **Chapter word count: 1791**

 **Story word count: 40272**

 **I mean it when I say reviews help get me through the day... right now I need every last bit of help I can get. So please review!**


	25. Hear the Sneers and Feel the Glares

**Hi. Thanks, Shellie2. I still haven't retroactively made up the entirety of Harry Potter. Do I have to say anything else?**

Harry borrowed a school owl to send the confirmation that he would give the speech, and immediately started to panic upon realizing he was expected to write said speech. He'd had vague ideas about speaking out against prejudice, but he had no idea how to say that. He didn't even know how to declare that the war was officially over in more than a sentence.

It was a shame that History of Magic had just ended, he reflected. He could have used the quiet time to scribble out some ideas. He wasn't looking forward to attempting to plan anything in the noisy Gryffindor common room, and doubted there'd be anyone available to let him into Slytherin. Unless he knocked… but no, he didn't want to draw attention to himself, and he wasn't sure if knocking would even be heard from their common room.

Harry finally settled on going to the library. He'd never spent much time there without Hermione dragging him in, but enveloped in the quiet atmosphere, Harry wished he'd come sooner.

Looking for an abandoned area where he could work in peace, Harry passed through the areas of tables. Unsurprisingly, most were packed with Ravenclaws. He did spot the occasional Hufflepuff though.

Gryffindors and Slytherins were noticeably absent. Harry knew that the Slytherin common room was just as calm as the library, although it contained fewer books, so he supposed their absence was to be expected. But Gryffindors… well, Harry knew they frequented the library nights before essays were due. Luckily, hours spent in the library were not the full measure of a person, and Harry didn't feel that the Gryffindors were any better or worse off for having their own habits.

Harry was almost in the back corner of the library. If there wasn't a table there, he'd have no choice but to leave the library and look for a similar quiet place.

When Harry had entered the library, he'd enjoyed the quiet and assumed that few people were there, but he was quickly realizing that every table was in fact packed. Even if he'd wanted to sit down with a group of strangers, he wouldn't have been able. Harry mentally shrugged as he rounded an oddly placed bookshelf sticking out farther than the others. If there were no seats behind it-

There were. There were several seats empty at the one table behind the shelf. The only occupant of the table was Draco Malfoy.

Harry sat down without fanfare. Malfoy glanced up at him but said nothing, so Harry didn't either. He didn't want to be the one to break the impeccable stillness that hung over the room.

He took out parchment and a quill, and promptly realized the quill needed to be sharpened. He found another quill and settled down to write before realizing his ink was still in his bag. He took it out, and stared at the parchment waiting for inspiration. None came, so Harry pulled out the very official letter the Ministry had sent. Staring at that didn't make Harry feel any more creative, so he searched for something else to stare at.

He quickly settled upon the thick stack of volumes Malfoy had beside him. Several more tomes were lying open around him, but Harry couldn't see their titles, so he ignored them for the time being. The books all looked incredibly old, nearly crumbling, and Harry sincerely hoped they were held together magically in some way. Otherwise it might be awkward for him if they were destroyed. Harry saw several about history, but was not clued in as to the nature of Malfoy's search. He leaned forward slightly, hoping to get a glimpse of an open page.

Upside down, Harry managed to catch enough phrases to determine that Malfoy was reading about old Pureblood families. There was no mention of Hogwarts, or the ridiculously elitist blood purity theory Harry still wasn't sure if Malfoy believed or not. So if he wasn't reading propaganda…

Of course. Harry began to smirk. The only possible reason Malfoy could have for researching ancient Pureblood families was because of the curse. Apparently he hadn't given up on it after all.

Malfoy glanced up at him again. Harry briefly wondered if his smirk was audible, or if Malfoy was just finely attuned to the presence of smirks. He couldn't stop, though. He couldn't believe Malfoy would insist so vehemently that there was nothing anyone could do, and a day later spend his time looking for a way to prove himself wrong.

Malfoy scowled at him.

Harry smiled back. He was pretty sure Malfoy knew exactly what he'd just figured out. It really was lucky, he mused idly in the midst of his smugness, that Malfoy managed to get a seat before they all filled up. It was strange that he'd gotten it all to himself, though, with the others completely full. Did the majority of students not know there was another table? Were there simply no more people hoping for a chance to study in the library at the moment?

These notions were quickly dispelled as two faces peered around the bookcase separating them from the main body of the room. The girl's face fell, and she tugged her friend (boyfriend?) away, but before she did so, she muttered, "Snake."

In the silent room, the low word resounded. Madame Pince was there in an instant.

"Who dares disturb this library?" she hissed.

The boy immediately pointed to Malfoy as the girl tried to look as innocent as possible.

Madame Pince shot Malfoy a _look_ , and Harry waited for her inevitable screeching and demands that they leave at once, but they never came. Instead she looked back to the boy and, fixing him and the girl with a glare almost worthy of Professor McGonagall, snapped, "I don't think so."

The girl stuttered, then, and Madame Pince finally commenced her screeching, but Harry could only watch in awe. Here was one person, at least, who judged people by their own merits. And she seemed to think that Malfoy had plenty.

The rude pair was banished, and Madame Pince went back to her desk without a word to them, but Malfoy was standing up. Harry watched him stack the books neatly and put things neatly into his bag. He didn't look at Harry, and Harry knew they hadn't come in together, but felt obligated to shove his own supplies into his bag, stand up, and follow Malfoy out. He hoped they weren't leaving just because of a few rude people. It wasn't fair, but Harry had an ugly feeling that Malfoy was used to much worse.

Malfoy was expressionless as he strode through the tables. He looked at no one, but everyone looked at him, and then at Harry. Harry tried to ignore them.

Outside the library, Harry fell in step beside Malfoy. The Slytherin stared straight ahead without acknowledging him. It was almost as if they were still in the library: the silence was menacing, and Harry didn't dare break it.

Malfoy did. "You didn't get anything done."

Harry glanced at him, curious.

Malfoy still wasn't looking at him as he turned toward the dungeons. "In the library. Whatever you were working on. You didn't do any of it."

"Oh," Harry said. The speech for the Ministry had completely escaped his mind. "I wasn't going to get very far on it anyway."

"What is it?"

Harry didn't want to seem like he was asking Malfoy for help, but come to think of it, he would probably be good at writing flowery words the Ministry would approve of. "The Ministry asked me to do this thing," he started tentatively, "where I'd give some speech-"

Malfoy muttered something as Harry talked, and the stone wall parted before them. Harry hadn't realized they'd made it to the Slytherin common room. He hadn't really intended to end up there, but when he'd followed Malfoy out of the library he hadn't been thinking of much beside the bigotry displayed.

Harry kept talking as they walked inside. Malfoy led him to a table and Harry followed perfunctorily, mind racing. Malfoy's inquisitiveness had probably been to distract Harry (and himself) from the rudeness they- well, Malfoy- had encountered, but it had also distracted Harry from his discovery of Malfoy's research. That, at least, he would have no problem bringing up. When the opportunity presented itself.

Harry finished whatever he'd been saying about the speech, hoping it was relevant and sounded natural. Malfoy didn't seem to notice anything out of place, so Harry decided his ramblings had been a success. Malfoy plopped down into a chair, scribbled something- a long something- on a bit of parchment, and thrust it toward Harry. Harry raised his eyebrows. Clearly, Malfoy was distracted.

He glanced at the page. Malfoy had written the speech! And Harry hadn't even asked him too! "Thanks," Harry told him, then, "So have you found a way around the multiple-family curse yet?"

Malfoy said nothing. Then for the first time since the library incident Malfoy looked at Harry.

Then he started talking.

Harry couldn't follow most of what he said, but it sounded as though he had plenty of theories that Bill should be able to help him test safely. Apparently no problem was unsolvable with time and patience.

Time and patience, Harry thought, smiling. Maybe those really were all you needed.

 **Chapter word count: 1566**

 **Story word count: 41838**

 **I don't like this chapter. It got the wordcount up but I need plot. I have no idea what this fic is. Please tell me.**


	26. My Own Devices

**This is still happening! I still own nothing!**

Harry's professors seemed to have suddenly decided it was time to step up the pace. Harry was extremely glad for Malfoy's help with the speech, since he had no time to do as much as think about going to the library in the days leading up to Halloween. Before he knew it, Halloween had arrived.

Harry tried to focus on the enormous carved pumpkins in the Great Hall as he ate breakfast. He had the speech in his pocket, permission from McGonagall to use her Floo directly after breakfast. Everything was in place, everything was settled and for once there was no sign of anyone plotting Harry's demise on Halloween. So why did the flickering grins of the pumpkins appear so sinister and knowing?

Harry pushed aside the unease. There was nothing to worry about.

He'd been quiet throughout breakfast, and Ron and Hermione had noticed, but said nothing. They finished eating at the same time as everyone else in the hall, and got stuck in the rush out the doors.

If Harry had been thinking, he would have relaxed and taken the time to talk to Ron and Hermione- or Malfoy, who he glimpsed only a few people away from them. But he definitely was not thinking. He did not relax, he did not talk to anyone, and somehow that did not make the time move any faster.

Somehow, somehow, they got through the doors and spilled out into the entry hall. Students were swirling away in every direction. It was a dizzying rush of black with flashes of House colors Harry instinctively tried to identify. He finally had the ability to move but was frozen. He knew Ron and Hermione were behind him but couldn't face them. Finally, Harry forced himself to move forward. After a few stumbling steps, he broke into a run.

Harry dashed all the way up to McGonagall's office. Objectively he knew that she would still grant him use of her Floo regardless of when he arrived, but he didn't want to think objectively. All he could focus on was his impending speech. He had managed to mess up so many things in his life, and so few things had ever gone right on Halloweens, he knew he needed to do the best he could for just a few hours.

Upon arriving, McGonagall raised a haughty eyebrow at him, and Harry abruptly realized that racing through Hogwarts might not have left him as well-kempt as he might hope to look while giving a Ministry speech. "Sorry," he muttered, attempting to flatten his hair and clothes. McGonagall only sniffed.

Harry glanced at a clock. He had time, but the minute hand ticked ominously onwards. He swallowed and forced himself not to bolt for the Floo powder.

He only had to make it to Mr. Mitxel's house, Harry told himself. One thing at a time. Once he was there, Mr. Mitxel would take care of getting him to the Ministry. Everything was planned and there would be people guiding him every step of the way. Everything was planned. Harry had nothing to worry about after getting to Mr. Mitxel's house. He just had to get-

"Through the Floo, Mr. Potter, if you please," Professor McGonagall instructed him crisply. "And I trust I don't have to remind you to speak _clearly_?"

She had managed to remind him anyway, although Harry had spent the last few days practicing how to say _Mitxel_ correctly. Looking at the easy pride with which she held herself, Harry felt at ease for the first time that morning. "Thanks, Professor."

She sniffed, and said again, "Through the Floo, Mr. Potter," though Harry thought it sounded much lower.

Harry moved to the fireplace calmly, remembering to breathe as he helped himself to some Floo powder out of an ornamental jade pot. He dropped the powder, stated his location, and closed his eyes.

The Floo flared, and Harry was gone. McGonagall sniffed again.

"Saving the world, and giving speeches at the Ministry… now if only he could comb his hair!"

* * *

Harry had never managed to emerge from a Floo elegantly, but was proud to not fall flat on his face. Mr. Mitxel's house was as he remembered: clean, sparse, black-and-white.

Unlike his last visit, this time Mr. Mitxel was there to greet him. He really should have been surprised, Harry mused, as Mr. Mitxel levelled a wand at him. But no, the severe black robes and white skull mask were almost comfortingly familiar.

Black and white, Harry thought calmly as Mitxel directed him to a design- a pentagram?- drawn on the floor. Unlike his early frantic rush, Harry could now move only slowly. He had been disarmed easily, and Mitxel hadn't attempted to cast any other magic on him to force him to comply. Looking at the pentagram drawn on the ground- was that blood?- Harry decided, perhaps a little late, that Mitxel had some Dark ritual planned. And despite everything Malfoy had said, and the Slytherins had taught him, Harry highly doubted the magic would be benign.

Black and white. There had been so many areas of gray lately, but this, at least, was simple: Mitxel was on one side, Harry the other. This was fact: Harry had no defenses, no way to escape.

What Harry did have was his wits. He looked at the possibly blood-drawn pentagram and the candles and herb bundles and stones at its edges. If this was Dark- and it certainly didn't seem Light- the structure was unimportant compared to the intent. That didn't mean the elements were meaningless, rather, they represented the intent. The blood- assuming it was blood- didn't seem to bode well for Harry, considering he was the one lying in the middle of the design. He saw an unlit candle and an empty bowl, which could mean invitation, or that Mitxel hadn't finished his preparation. There was a snakeskin, and a cup, and a locket, and a ring-

Harry's throat constricted. Sure, he was being held at wand-point by a Death Eater, but he was pretty sure Voldemort was gone for good. It hadn't occurred to him that anyone would even try to get him back.

They weren't the real Horcruxes. Just imitations, echoes of intent. And, interestingly, Mitxel hadn't represented all of them- the diary was notably absent, as was the diadem. Did Mitxel find them less important? Was he trying to bring back a Voldemort without his Muggle connections and- actually, Harry had no idea why Mitxel hadn't provided a facsimile of the diadem. Against his will, Harry thought of the diadem Luna's father had constructed, and imagined Mitxel having placed it in his gruesome diorama. His mouth twitched.

Mitxel didn't notice. His wand was still pointed at Harry, and he glanced at him every few seconds, but his attention was focused on a clock. Harry noticed it was almost past lunchtime. His friends would be finishing up and perhaps trying to leave early, to avoid the jam they'd been in that morning. It felt so long ago, but at the same time Harry found it hard to believe so much time had passed.

Mitxel took off his mask. Not that it mattered. His face was nondescript and Harry didn't think he'd ever seen him before. This wasn't personal.

He looked back to the clock, so Harry looked too. He didn't know what time Mitxel was waiting for. He was sure there was some magically significant time coming up, but he didn't know what it could be.

Harry had asked, once, about some of the things Dark magic had been associated with- life and death and the in-between. The Slytherins had exchanged uneasy looks, and for once Draco wasn't the one to answer.

"There's something between life and death," Parkinson had started. "A veil." Harry had flinched and he thought Malfoy might have too. "We don't know a lot about it, so if we tried to break it- well. We don't know what's on the other side waiting."

Harry could appreciate that. On some level, he was able to understand Petunia and Vernon's fear of magic, as they saw it as making deals with the devil. If that had been what Hogwarts had to teach, he might've turned around and left. Harry didn't like the idea of sticking out his hand without knowing _what_ might take it.

Now, Mitxel seemed more than willing to break the veil and make deals with whatever could get him what he wanted. Why he would ever want to be a slave again, Harry had no idea. He'd never heard of this person before and it wasn't personal. Mitxel hadn't even bothered to speak to him and reveal his evil plan through dramatic monologue. Honestly that was actually sort of impressive. He wasn't stupid, Harry could give him that. He'd felt uneasy, sure, but hadn't actually seen this coming.

It was just a bit pathetic, Harry thought. All of this. Harry wouldn't be going out in a blaze of glory against his arch-nemesis, which was all sorts of disturbing. He shouldn't be going out passively at all, and yet…

Harry let his gaze drop away from the clock and lowered his head.

 **Chapter word count: 1534**

 **Story word count: 43372**

 **Feedback is much appreciated. I am totally finishing this by the end of the year.**


	27. Turn to Dust

**Can I still finish this before midnight my time? Who knows! Will I try? Yes! I own nothing, and have no sanity!**

Everything was silent. Harry was starting to wish Mitxel, if that was even his name, would start talking to him. Nothing moved except the ticking clock, and the flick of Mitxel's dark eyes. If Harry could feel anything, he might feel bored.

As it was, Harry simply watched everything. There was nothing to listen to except his own heartbeat, and he suspected that would cease to sound shortly. The house was stark. It had seemed elegant initially, now it seemed too fake for anyone to really live in. Mitxel had bothered to paint the walls, to give a facsimile of a real home, but hadn't added any furniture, any sense of permanence. Too bad he hadn't picked up on that on his first visit.

Harry could smell the dried blood, now. He breathed it in dispassionately. It didn't matter. Nothing did.

And then there was sound.

It was a rushing in the other room, the one Harry had come in through. He could see, through the doorway, a wash of flickering green light against the far wall.

The Floo! Mitxel must not have closed it off. A clamor of voices rang out, and Harry's heart pounded. He could feel again.

"-course it's the right place, everything's the same, here-" That was Ron. Ron was here.

"-come on, where's the door- there, let's go-" It took Harry a moment to process the words and match them with a voice. He had never heard Zabini speak so hurriedly before, without composure. It seemed incredible to Harry that he and Ron would ever be in the same place. It seemed incredible to Harry that anyone he knew would show up now.

Harry contemplated escape for the first time. He had been sitting cross-legged, and considered quietly unfolding his legs, but Mitxel wasn't stupid. He sent a wordless spell at Harry and he felt himself unable to move. Interestingly, the wand movement had seemed very precise, so the spell was apparently Light. Maybe Mitxel didn't want any stray bits of Dark magic interfering with what he had planned. Harry attempted to open his mouth, but no, the binding spell did not even allow him that movement. Typical.

"Are you sure no one's here?" That was Luna, Luna was here too, of course she was- and at least now Harry had a chance, if they tried to look around they would see him, and maybe one of them would make it against Mitxel, who was standing, wand out, approaching the doorway-

"I think we would have heard them, besides, he'd be at the Ministry-" That was Malfoy.

Mitxel stopped.

"Fine-"

"The door's here-"

"You do know the way to the Ministry?"

"Of course, it's close-"

Millicent Bulstrode, Hermione, Parkinson, and Ginny- were they really all here? Why? It had been a while, but not that long-

They were leaving. They had found the front door without even their shadows passing through Harry's sight. If Harry had been able to move, he would have groaned in frustration. But no, at least now Mitxel wouldn't harm them-

He was ghosting through the doorway, toward where Harry vaguely remembered the front door being. Harry's blood froze. He'd been so sure Mitxel would leave his friends out of this, would value secrecy over immediately killing everyone-

Mitxel made no sound. Harry was unable to make sounds. The house itself produced no noise. The footsteps of his friends were easy to hear. He could hear the front door opening, and heard footsteps fading away. There were only a few of his friends left, and Mitxel had still done nothing- at least, Harry assumed he had done nothing. He had passed outside of Harry's limited line of sight.

Only a few of his friends remained in the house. Three or fewer- two, definitely- now only one.

The door slammed. Harry held his breath. His heartbeat was racing in his ears. Time didn't seem to be moving correctly, or at least as fast as Harry would like it to. He strained to hear something other than his pulse, something to indicate if the last person out the door had been over-zealous in departing or if Mitxel had done something, if someone besides Harry was now trapped in this monochromatic tomb-

There was a scuffle of sound.

"You," Malfoy said.

"You," Mitxel said back. "Come."

Malfoy walked into the room, unbound, unbidden by Mitxel's wand. He did not rush to Harry's side. His eyes did not widen in horror. Instead, Malfoy glanced at him, glanced away disinterestedly, and put his wand back in his pocket.

Mitxel strode in behind Malfoy, a pleased upturn to his lips. His wand was held loosely, and he flicked it well to the side of his pentagram, conjuring two black armchairs. Malfoy lowered himself into one gracefully.

"I should have known," Mitxel said. "You wouldn't have wasted your time on him without a plan."

Malfoy dipped his head in silent assent.

Harry's world was falling apart.

"But how did you know to come here?"

"You weren't exactly subtle," Malfoy said, and oh, there was that drawl Harry had spent years loathing, that self-satisfied surety. "If there was really a speech being given at the Ministry, my family would have been invited."

"Your family is not exactly in the Ministry's best graces." Mitxel's smile was gone. "Try again."

Malfoy, seemingly unaffected, arched a single, haughty eyebrow. "My family is still owed favors by most of the Ministry. But no, you left plenty of holes in your little façade. Any Ministry event, anything relating to the war, would have been widely publicized. You could have tried to account for that by claiming the speech would be a surprise, but you didn't even bother. It's a miracle you even managed to get him here."

Mitxel was scowling, Malfoy was smirking, and Harry was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to move even without Mitxel's spell. Malfoy had _written his speech for him_. Malfoy had never confided even a sliver of uncertainty regarding the authenticity of the event; that had to have been a choice. Harry's previous flare of hope at hearing his friends had been more than extinguished; everything he thought he'd had since the beginning of the year suddenly wavered. Was any of it real? Had Malfoy just spent their time together looking for an opening, a weakness, for revenge?

"It's a miracle you managed to not ruin everything," Mitxel shot back, after a short pause. "I can understand you wanting your own revenge and tagging along, but did you really have to bring all those students? I have no use for spares."

 _Spares_. Harry's blood flared. He attempted to get up; with the curse, he barely budged. It was enough to make Malfoy glance at him. Harry hoped he had enough control over his facial features to glare, needed to express his scathing fury at Malfoy's betrayal, but Malfoy seemed unimpressed, sneering back at him before looking away.

"They figured it out on their own. You do know that it's illegal for a wizard to live within walking distance of the Ministry? And the name you chose translates to 'fake'. Honestly, I'd almost think you wanted to be caught."

Mitxel sniffed at Malfoy's derision, but didn't rise to the bait. Malfoy might think his plans to be sketchy and a sign of little intelligence, but Harry stood by his earlier observation: Mitxel was smart, at least in that he refused to let emotions get in the way of his plots. That made him hard to escape from…

Escape? Yes, now that Harry thought about it, that did seem like a good idea. He tested the binding spell again; it hadn't weakened. He remembered his earlier relief when his friends had left Mitxel's house; he'd thought that they, at least, would be safe. But if Mitxel managed to bring back Voldemort- and Harry didn't know that he couldn't- nobody would be safe.

Harry couldn't let this happen.

The problem was, he now had two jailers. They weren't exactly watching his every move- Mitxel hadn't even looked at him since speaking to Malfoy- but they didn't need to. Harry couldn't move, which was a major block to his potential escape.

Malfoy and Mitxel were still talking. "Of course I left a few signs. It wasn't anything people like him would have noticed-" he jerked his head at Harry without looking at him- "-but I'm sure I'm not the only one who wouldn't mind a bit of revenge before he serves his purpose."

"Oh, so you are going to sacrifice him?" Malfoy asked, almost conversationally.

"Of course I'm going to sacrifice him, nobody returns from the other side for a party," Mitxel snapped. Harry was glad that the antagonism wasn't aimed at him, which was maybe a stupid priority, considering he was scheduled to be sacrificed soon. It was strange, though, how the tension between Malfoy and Mitxel hung in the air, considering they were supposedly on the same side. Harry wished he could use that- but no, he couldn't even speak. He was completely at the non-existent mercy of the two Death Eaters.

Harry's stomach twisted. Death Eaters. He'd spent so long claiming Malfoy wasn't one, but now Malfoy was pushing up his sleeve, revealing the still dark, still vivid tattoo. Mitxel did likewise, and they started chatting about the different things they'd done to serve their Lord, back in the glorious days of his reign.

This was disgusting. Harry had initially tried to figure out what the components around him would be used for, hoping the knowledge could help him escape as it was literally all he had, but now, as Malfoy asked Mitxel about the type of blood, the advantages to lit and unlit candles, and the timing, Harry did his best to dissociate from his surroundings. The knowledge wasn't exactly pleasant, and Malfoy kept nodding and throwing in anecdotes about his own experiences summoning Dark energies, and commiserating with how hard blood was to wash out.

Gritting his teeth, Harry tried again to throw off the magic binding him. Nothing happened- not that Harry expected it to. Moving magic without a wand, without any specific words, seemed very Dark- and everything he knew about Dark magic had come from Malfoy. Harry didn't know if he could believe anything he had "learned" from him. Anyway, Mitxel had used Light magic- again, Harry couldn't even be sure of that, thanks to Malfoy. There was probably a Light counterspell, but Harry didn't have that option.

Harry didn't have any options.

 **Chapter word count: 1759**

 **Story word count: 45131**

 **I still appreciate feedback! That is a constant! Thanks for reading! I am so tired but also not!**


	28. Save Me Just in Time

**Will I finish before my midnight? Oh well... I own nothing.**

Harry had thought that the gruesome discussion between Malfoy and Mitxel would be the worst thing to happen before he was sacrificed. He was wrong.

He'd missed what Mitxel had said the time of his execution would be, and was torn between being grateful for his ignorance and frantically wondering which breath would be his last. Malfoy solved the dilemma by turning to conversation to the importance of the thirteenth hour.

1:00 pm. He had less than an hour left before his demise.

The clock ticked on remorselessly. Mechanically. Like a clock. Harry was not impressed with the state of his mental facilities.

He looked to Malfoy. There was someone mechanical, unchanging: he would, without fault, act only for his own gain. Malfoy constantly lied, insulted, pasted on a smile around his superiors, and generally made Harry, as a Gryffindor, feel disgusted to know him.

Of course, Harry was disgusted to know Malfoy in general.

He should have known better, should have known Malfoy could never really change. Looking back, it was obvious that their "deal" really only benefitted Malfoy: Malfoy and the Slytherins were, in the public's eyes, approved by Harry Potter. Harry, on the other hand, enjoyed no similar boost in social status; rather, he was frowned on, but got to feel like a hero. Malfoy must have been so smug about finally finding a way to exploit Harry's need to protect others.

Harry could see it, now: Malfoy kept sending him little glances, each one full of malice that seemed gleeful, as if glad to finally be unleashed.

Mitxel noticed. "I did mention that I wanted others to have their chances for revenge."

Malfoy appeared positively delighted. "How kind of you."

"Yes, it is," Mitxel agreed. "Kind. And definitely not just an oversight and poor planning."

Malfoy ignored that, slowly rising from his black seat to prowl forward. He crouched before Harry, who could only glare. The Death Eater grasped his chin, tilting it up with a jerk, baring Harry's neck. Harry tried not to swallow.

"Hmm," Malfoy almost _purred_ , sinisterly pondering, "what kind of condition will you need him in for the ritual?"

Mitxel had lost much of his obvious distrust of Malfoy when they'd started discussing the ritual, but now, some last bit of wariness bled out of him, replaced by satisfaction. "Too much blood might mar the lines, but besides that, he just needs to stay alive."

"I'm sure his existence is already painful enough," Malfoy murmured. "I mean, considering I convinced him he meant something and he's only just found out I was using him all along."

Harry heard more than saw Mitxel chuckle and lean back in his chair. Malfoy was blocking his view. Harry had no way of knowing if the eye contact thing was even a real custom- did he manage to orchestrate that entire fight and make-up, too?- but Malfoy knew what he'd told Harry. Harry was sure that Malfoy's reason for the proximity was to force him to see the eye contact, to mock him.

Harry had very little autonomy but refused to be mocked, so he dragged his eyes up to Malfoy's.

"Nothing you do has real meaning," Malfoy spat. He was done addressing Mitxel, apparently. "Everyone you've ever met only cares about your name, and how they can use you. And they do use you. Those so-called 'friends' of yours would never have bothered if you were someone _normal_. You should be grateful that this time you're being used for a greater purpose-"

Harry tuned him out. Malfoy wasn't looking him in the eyes.

Malfoy wasn't looking him in the eyes.

 _Malfoy was not looking him in the eyes!_

Malfoy was looking at his eyebrows very determinedly. Up close, with his back to Mitxel, Malfoy didn't seem calm or composed or particularly evil. If anything, he seemed desperate.

Harry relaxed. It was nice to know that he had not, in fact, been colossally wrong about Malfoy for several months. He couldn't believe he'd let himself believe Malfoy was really a Death Eater after all, for the last several minutes. Was it only minutes? It'd felt like hours. Harry could easily believe Malfoy was managing to save his own skin, even in a situation like this. The insults flowed from him naturally, at odds with his expression. At least Malfoy would get out of this house alive.

But if all Malfoy cared about was saving himself, why had he bothered revealing himself to Harry? Harry would be dead soon; it wouldn't matter if he'd known Malfoy's true alliances in his final moments or not. (Assuming he really did know Malfoy's true alliances, this time.)

Malfoy still looked determined, not at all as if he were searching Harry for forgiveness. It didn't make sense, with Malfoy's plan to save himself- and that had to be his plan- what else was there to do, except sit back, smile, and prepare to run?

Did Malfoy have some other plan?

Harry didn't want to give himself false hope, but- but could this plan end with Harry being alive, and very much not sacrificed?

Harry concentrated, and told himself he could feel the magic holding him. He _pushed_.

And he _felt_ something.

There was a definite feeling of pressure, a little bit of give, but it didn't seem to quite match what he thought he'd done. It had almost felt as though the magic ties were already moving.

He looked at Malfoy again. Malfoy had stopped his stream of world-shaking insults, and was looking him in the eyes.

Malfoy looked away without moving his head, and started speaking again; Harry didn't listen. He'd thought something had flickered when he pushed, so he tried it again.

This time, there was a definite silvery flash. Mitxel's spell felt more like a serpent than rope. Mitxel himself was still motionless in his chair. Harry had no way of knowing for certain, but it seemed that this was something only he was seeing.

So Harry took a deep breath, and pushed without stopping.

He had to squint to see anything. There was silver everywhere- in the walls, in the pentagram, in Malfoy. In Harry.

In this world of silver, there was a snake partially wrapped around Harry. Harry decided it must be the spell, because his own silvery arms were pushing it off. There was a dark mass to the side- his real arms, Harry realized with a start. They were still. Without stopping his pushing, Harry tried to crane his neck around. There was a dark figure- himself?- that was more or less where Harry felt he was. There was silver where his magic was moving, and while none of this had ever been explained to him, it seemed to make sense. There were probably worlds of meaning in everything, things Harry wouldn't know how to describe later, but for now, he just knew he needed to get the snake off of him.

He kept pushing, and the snake went, slowly. It's head flicked up at him, once, and seemed to measure him and his intentions. The moment seemed to drag on, probably because everything in that world seemed to move slowly. He looked to Malfoy, or where Malfoy was; there were arms hauling the snake away from Harry, directing it toward Mitxel.

That made sense, Harry reflected, slowly. That would help.

In the strange world of silver, of magic, Harry had no concept of strength. There were no muscles burning or simple explanations for why moving the serpent was slow, it simply was.

The snake itself seemed to understand it's own nature. It was initially reluctant to leave, but when Malfoy continually pointed it toward Mitxel, it seemed to make a decision.

The snake slithered, calmly, steadily, toward Mitxel.

Harry and Malfoy weren't helping it go any faster than it was going under its own power. Harry stopped pushing.

His vision distorted. Mitxel had left him with his glasses, which he appreciated. He tried clenching his toes.

He couldn't.

For a second, Harry panicked. Had the silvery vision been a hallucination, induced by extreme stress? Had he imagined Malfoy's determination?

He tried again. This time, he felt a definite twitch.

Harry made eye contact with Malfoy.

Malfoy carefully angled his head so that Harry's face was completely hidden from Mitxel. He was still speaking- "Of course, it doesn't help with your parents, it seems getting killed by Dark wizards runs in the family- did you ever hear about your grandparents?"

The pause felt natural, in context. Hopefully Mitxel thought so, thought that it was simply a case of Malfoy mocking Harry to the fullest.

Malfoy made eye contact with Harry. He looked terrible, Harry noticed. His face was shiny with sweat, and was red- that wasn't just a sign of nerves. Harry frowned. It seemed he had the muscles for that at least. He should have felt happier, but Malfoy didn't seem to be in any state to do anything except talk.

Harry didn't know what he himself looked like, but he didn't feel terrible. He was tired, certainly, but thought he could manage to stand, which was more than Malfoy looked capable of.

Harry looked at Malfoy. Malfoy looked at Harry. Now, Malfoy seemed as though he were looking for something.

Harry nodded, hoping he could pull off whatever task he had accepted.

Malfoy glanced away, resumed his verbal abuse, and carefully, oh so carefully, drew his wand out of his pocket. He laid it down against Harry's fingertips.

Harry's breath caught. He would only have the energy for one spell. He'd have to hope that the binding snake had left him completely and was as unrelenting with Mitxel as it had been with him.

Without moving his upper body, Harry curled his fingers around the wand.

He hadn't exactly conquered it, and it wasn't the missing one that had worked so well for him before, but he felt a warmth from it that, for the last few hours, had been well beyond his most desperate wishes.

Harry closed his eyes. He pictured where Mitxel was, how he was seated, how only the chair and Malfoy were between them.

He moved.

"Stupefy."

 **Chapter word count: 1699**

 **Story word count: 46830**

 **Reviews are still appreciated. No matter the year.**


	29. They Keep Calling Me

**Wow. I am really bad at making my deadlines. Thanks, Sabine8195! I still own nothing. It's almost over...**

When Harry woke up, he was alone.

He was also, notably, alive.

He was not alone for long, though he was glad to remain alive. Ron poked his nose around a corner, then ran for him, Hermione on his heels.

"Harry, finally-"

"It's been days-"

"At least it's not Halloween anymore," Harry muttered.

Looking around, Harry frowned. This wasn't the hospital wing.

"Where-"

"The Ministry," Hermione answered immediately. "It's-" She broke off.

"What?" Harry asked.

When Hermione didn't answer, he looked to Ron. Ron swallowed.

"See, we're not sure what exactly the bad news is- but it is bad-"

"Just tell me!"

"Well, it's either that Malfoy is a Death Eater trying to bring back Voldemort, or that he's on trial for being a Death Eater."

Harry stared at him. "What."

"Harry, I know you just woke up," Hermione started nervously, and Harry switched his gaze to her, "but it would be nice to know about right now. So we can finish the trial and send Malfoy… er. Wherever he needs to go?"

Harry couldn't believe this. He started to get up, but was immediately held down by his friends. "Harry, you can't, you need to wait- they haven't even asked you to be a witness-"

Harry refrained from saying _What_? again. "He's innocent. Again. Still. Whatever. Look, I need to be there-"

"We know," Ron and Hermione said at the same time. Then they looked at each other. Harry rolled his eyes.

"This time they aren't deciding very quickly," Ron told him. "It'll probably go on for another week, so you can wait until tomorrow when you can actually stand."

"I can stand," Harry told him. Then he realized he actually probably couldn't. "Sometimes. Not now."

They finally laughed, and some Healers finally realized Harry was awake, and Ron and Hermione were shooed out.

Harry had no energy to even try to protest the Healers, so he permitted them to do their work without a fight. He took the potions they gave him without protest, and was soon drifting back to sleep.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he was alone.

He vaguely remembered being awake before, and seeing Ron and Hermione, and a strange sense of urgency. He knew he was safe, so why had he wanted to get up so badly? He was fine, his friends were fine, Malfoy was…

Malfoy.

The trial.

Harry grit his teeth and told his body to stand. It did.

As Harry wobbled his way through the Ministry hallways, he couldn't help but notice the lack of people. There was no one to tell him to go back to bed… but also nobody to help him move faster, Harry reflected wryly. He realized that he didn't know what day it was. Was it the weekend? Was that why the Ministry was so empty? Did wizards even have the concept of not working on weekends? But that made no sense. Surely there would still be some, and now that Harry thought about it, his own trial had been on a Saturday…

The lack of wizards, and the silence produced by that lack, was eerie. Harry's shuffling steps were the only sounds to be heard. It reminded him a little too much of his quest to the Department of Mysteries.

Harry finally reached an elevator. At least, unlike his fifth year, the Ministry was brightly lit. Harry leaned against the side of the lift, catching his breath and relaxing, just a little. The lift moved much faster than he did, at the moment.

Harry was almost unwilling to step out when the gates opened. Standing still had been a relief to his body- which made no sense, it wasn't his body he'd pushed to the limits- but he had a mission.

Harry suddenly remembered how terrible Malfoy had looked when Harry had last seen him. Harry had been in better shape than Malfoy- so why was Malfoy already on trial before Harry had even woken up? Shouldn't it have taken more time for Malfoy to wake up? True, Harry had cast one more spell than Malfoy, but that shouldn't have made too much of a difference.

Harry frowned as he attempted to shuffle faster.

Somehow, _somehow_ , he managed to arrive at the courtroom. He remembered belatedly that trials weren't supposed to be held there- his, and those from last year, had been abnormalities. But everything about this situation was abnormal, so Harry decided to trust himself. He nudged open the door.

Sound poured out. There were hundreds of witches and wizards, all sitting in the tiers, like a flock of smug but never-satisfied birds. At the edge of the room, Harry was not noticed; despite the chatter, all attention was focused on one individual, far below the hovering, predatory birds that were the Ministry.

Harry had thought that one of the reasons he hadn't been noticed was that he was only one person, and a young one, but here was another lone person, his age, being scrutinized mercilessly.

Draco Malfoy looked terrible.

There was no other way to say it. He barely seemed to be awake. Unlike his last trial, his hair was all over the place. This was a rare event, and Harry knew that under any other circumstances, he would enjoy heckling Malfoy about it.

These, however, were not those circumstances. Harry could see Kingsley Shacklebolt near the center of the room, massaging his brow. Harry felt a flash of annoyance- if it bothered him so much, why didn't he do something about it? But then Harry saw him drinking water, and chose to believe that he had already spoken quite a lot.

Looking around, the division in the room was obvious. Many people looked impatient, but some of them also seemed sympathetic. Others looked downright hateful.

And others… others looked amused.

It made sick sense. The air felt hot and heavy. The various members of the Ministry twittered and whispered and pointed. Harry didn't know why they bothered with the pretense. They had their minds made up, every one of them: Harry, and everyone else, he was sure, could see it.

The lack of windows and light unsettled Harry. He knew that they were underground, but he also knew that the Ministry had several underground windows. To choose not to place any here… that was a deliberate choice.

Harry tried to remember how to breathe. It was incredibly stuffy, the way the room was packed to the ceiling, and although the room must have been used frequently in the last year under the corrupted- well, more corrupted- Ministry, the dust was thick in the air.

Harry leaned against the door he had opened slightly. He was suddenly afraid that the trip had cost him too much; why had he come again?

He looked down. Malfoy seemed to be having just as much trouble breathing, if not more. Harry noticed that the chains on the chair were in use, despite Malfoy appearing to barely be able to sit up straight, let alone walk anywhere.

Harry took a deep breath, told himself it was enough and he was fine, and began making his way to the center of the tiers, to the podium.

People were noticing him now. Their whispers changed to shocked gasps, before starting up again, more frantic. Harry tried to ignore them.

Some people, it seemed, were very good at ignoring them. Malfoy, for one, didn't look up. The wizard currently at the podium didn't either.

Harry attempted to understand what the man was saying. Something about Death Eaters, yes, typical… and something about his family's attempt to destroy the Ministry.

It made no sense. He would speak to the room at large, persuading them that yes, Malfoy was evil and needed to go to Azkaban, and then he would direct his words to Malfoy alone. He was doing his best to make eye contact, although Malfoy didn't- perhaps couldn't- raise his head, and insulting him.

Harry tried to respect the law. He understood the need for order, and justice. But this… there was no way this was justice.

The wave of whispers following Harry had caught the attention of the other side of the room, but the wizard who had been speaking paid it no mind. He did, however, end his tirade of insults, and trade places with a witch, who picked up where he had left off.

By the time Harry made it to the podium where she was speaking, the witch had moved on to convincing the room that Malfoy could not be trusted because his family owned several members of the Ministry.

"Why don't you just get rid of those people, then?" Harry said. He had reached the podium, and his words reached the entire room, effectively interrupting the witch. She gaped at him. "But that's not the problem," Harry continued.

He talked for a while- hopefully about relevant things, he wasn't exactly capable of advanced thought at the moment, and knew he had no filter. Harry tried to mention the main points: Malfoy was innocent, the Ministry should fix their priorities, and maybe get Malfoy the medical care he needs before determining if a trial is even necessary.

Somewhere in Harry's rambling, Malfoy managed to slowly lift his head and look at Harry.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Harry said to him, and passed out.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he wasn't alone.

 **Chapter word count: 1567**

 **Story word count: 48397**

 **Please review. One more chapter!**


	30. If You Hear My Voice

**This is it! I still own nothing. Not Harry Potter, not the song lyrics I used- I hope you notice the pattern- not the various allusions. Please tell me someone noticed the Kafka references. Anyway! Enjoy, and thank you for sharing the ride with me.**

Morning light filtered through clean windows. Harry and Malfoy had been moved back to Hogwarts, to the Hospital Wing. Harry had never thought he would appreciate being in the Hospital Wing, but as Madame Pomfrey bustled around them, clucking her tongue at the Ministry's poor handling of them, Harry suddenly knew he was home.

"Treating you like- like-" Madame Pomfrey seemed to be unable to finish her thought in her disgusted distress, and bustled off.

Malfoy noticed Harry watching him. "Like a dog," he finished quietly, although Madame Pomfrey was not within earshot.

Harry frowned, thinking of Sirius. He'd never gotten a trial, but he hadn't endured what the Ministry had put Malfoy through. "Dogs deserve better," he managed.

After that, they mostly tried not to talk about the Ministry. Of course, that was made difficult by the fact that several Ministry employees worked at their school. A few days later, Essen Tod stood up at the beginning of dinner to make an announcement.

"If you remember, the Ministry has declared a competition to name the war," she started. Harry hadn't remembered, but he thought that was excusable, all things considered. "Previously, entries were to be submitted with the contenders' names. However, the Ministry has decided that from now on, all entries will be anonymous. Thank you."

The Hall was buzzing. Harry couldn't help but grin as he saw Hermione gesticulating wildly as she explained the connotations of this change, and grinned wider when he saw Ron watching her fondly. It was nice to see the Ministry taking steps to become a bit more impartial in judging. Also, he was proud of his Head of House for making an entire public address without stammering.

Glancing across the Hall, Harry noticed that Malfoy seemed stunned, and his smile faltered. It was a bit unnerving to see the Ministry make such a quick turnaround. And it seemed a bit unfair that the Ministry would do something good, now, because that meant people would praise them. Despite them making a step in the right direction, the Ministry didn't seem very worthy of honor to Harry.

He realized he was halfway across the Hall to the Slytherin table. Dinner wasn't over, although people were starting to leave, Ron and Hermione included. They glanced at him, and continued, unconcerned. When had this become normal? For his presence among the Slytherins to be so natural no one thought anything of it?

Harry sat down across from Malfoy. He didn't know how to ask for his thoughts on the change, but luckily he didn't have to: it was already the talk of the table.

Harry tried to follow, but for once the Slytherins were excited and talking quickly. He looked to Malfoy. "How did that happen?" he asked. He hadn't meant to, but quickly realized that that question really was the crux of the matter; he had no idea why the Ministry would do such a thing.

"It was her," Malfoy said.

"Who, Tod?"

At Malfoy's nod, Harry fell silent for a moment. It was true that she'd changed a lot since the beginning of the year, but he hadn't known she was able or wanted to effect legislative change. "How did she…?"

"Tod has a history of leading the Ministry," Malfoy began. His eyes said that he still couldn't believe this was happening. "The last time she took charge, she had everyone who agreed with any of Voldemort's views arrested."

Harry frowned a little. While Voldemort was undeniably evil and should not, in general, be agreed with, he'd at least known that some Muggles were not kind to magical children. Harry also knew that, and wondered if that counted as agreeing. It was a stretch, so it might not. And it might have been good for the wizarding community to weed out those who agreed with his more extremist views, so why-

Malfoy must have seen the question in his face. "She started with her own family."

Oh.

"To be fair," Malfoy said, almost hastily, "her family was raising her to be a Death Eater, and sending in donations. But it gave her a rather ruthless reputation."

Harry was quiet for another minute. "I guess she's changed." That's what they'd wanted, right? For people to see that their bias was incorrect, and get over themselves?

"One person has changed," Malfoy agreed, and it felt heavy and solemn, not enough. But then he smiled- a real smile, and Harry knew that if Malfoy could smile, the world could change.

* * *

Harry ended up at the Slytherin common room, somehow. He'd meant to go to Gryffindor Tower, but figured it wouldn't hurt to stay for a few minutes. Malfoy was asking him about when he'd tried to send his wand- one more thing Harry had temporarily forgotten about, and then they were looking at tracking spells that may or may not work, and then Harry realized that while he had time before curfew, he had to travel from the lowest point in the school to one of the highest points in the school, and should probably start that journey.

Harry said his goodbyes and pushed open the door, but before he could go through it, something else came in.

It was an owl. Harry wished he had a camera; the Slytherins all looked shocked. Since they slept so far underground, and had no windows, Harry could guess that owls in the common room were not a common occurrence.

The owl fluttered over to Malfoy, and Harry followed, his plans of giving himself enough time forgotten.

Malfoy took the small box the owl offered him, and shook it lightly, seemingly bewildered. When he opened it, Harry could understand why- all it contained was a sheet of parchment. Then the paper came to life, crinkling into a perfect wafer-thin butterfly. The quaver of its wings somehow brought it to hover before Malfoy, who was starting to smile. Then the wings unfolded, and Harry was sure parchment didn't fold like that, but somehow Malfoy was left with an unwrinkled page.

Harry and the Slytherins watched as Malfoy read his letter, which still hung suspended in front of him. Finally, Malfoy sighed.

"They're shortening the length of Mother's house arrest," he told them, somewhat absently, as he began writing a reply.

Harry wasn't sure if he'd heard right; he hadn't heard anything about Narcissa Malfoy being under house arrest. A glance at the Slytherins confirmed that they were just as surprised as he was.

"Something you forgot to tell us?" Pansy asked wryly.

"No?" Malfoy blinked up at them, confused, then his eyes widened abruptly. "Maybe?"

Everyone sighed then, and muttered, but nobody was pushing Malfoy to share anything when it was so late.

Harry suddenly remembered that he had been going, and repeated the process of getting up and opening the door. This time, the owl flew out with him.

As Harry watched the owl spiral higher faster than he could climb the staircases, he wondered if Malfoy's previous omission had been intentional, or if he'd actually forgotten to share the news. Either way, it was nice to know he was as mortal as the rest of them. And that he trusted them (now, anyway) enough to be relaxed enough to casually spill secrets.

* * *

It wasn't until breakfast the next morning that Harry realized exactly what he had seen. What Narcissa had sent looked a lot like what Neville had described- paperflies?

It seemed some of the old traditions were coming back. Harry decided he liked it.

He liked it even more when, glancing down the Gryffindor table, he noticed Ginny had somehow grafted a live flower onto her headband. The white petals were bright against her hair. She noticed him staring and grinned at him.

Harry grinned back, then looked away before he managed to embarrass himself.

He noticed several others, including the Slytherins, admire her achievement. Hopefully the idea would spread.

* * *

There was time between breakfast and his first class, so Harry fell in step next to Malfoy, despite not knowing where he was headed. Malfoy glanced at him and immediately began talking.

"I was thinking about that binding spell," Malfoy said. He almost blurted it out, it was so sudden. But then he said nothing, leaving Harry to wonder.

"And?"

"And how we moved it, how it moved itself." For something he'd wanted to say so badly, he wasn't saying much.

"What about it?"

"Well…" It was unusual for Malfoy to be this tentative. "What if the curse on the Sorting Hat is sort of like that?"

"You mean, we just have to convince it to move, not break it."

"Exactly, I don't know if it will work, but-"

"You don't know it won't," Harry said firmly. "Bill's coming next week, right?"

Malfoy nodded, at peace now that he had shared his idea.

"So, what, we would need something else to move the curse onto?" Harry thought aloud. "Would it have to be something technically capable of making choices?"

"Ask Bill," Malfoy suggested, apparently done speculating about the curse for the moment.

They walked in comfortable silence for a ways.

"Where are we going, anyway?" Harry asked.

"No idea," Malfoy replied.

Harry laughed, and Malfoy did too.

Then Harry stopped. In fact, his whole world seemed to stop. How had he not seen this sooner?

"I just realized," he said to Malfoy. "We're _friends_."

Malfoy nodded cautiously, not seeming to know what to do with a Harry that was staring blankly ahead.

Harry groaned and sank to his knees. "You have to tell me these things, I don't notice them until it's too late…"

"Well," Malfoy said, tentatively. "Like you said. It's too late."

Harry looked up at him. He was extending his hand.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, and took his hand. "It is."

 **Chapter word count: 1634**

 **Story word count: 50031**

 **It's... over?**

 **I will always be curious as to what you think. Please, no matter when you read this, leave a review! If you put a * in it I'll PM you. I'd love to talk about this and Harry Potter! Anyway... THANK YOU, and goodbye.**


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